Discovered
by HappyThestral
Summary: Misha, a part-time Hogwarts instructor and struggling musician stumbles upon Sirius and the Trio and makes a new friend. Or more? Dedicated to fanfic authors I admire. Sirius/OC, Harry, Hermione, Ron, Aberforth, Mundungus, Remus, implied R/S, others.
1. Chapter 1 Misha

**Chapter One (Misha):**

It had been a difficult morning for Misha Marrowstone and, unbeknownst to her, things would only manage to descend further into chaos. First, her father had owled to say that he'd be remaining in Sydney for an extra three weeks, leaving Misha in charge of the farm and business. Well, honestly, that news was not too extraordinary. In fact, it was pretty much to be expected. Besides, her job (such as it was) kept her in Hogsmeade, anyway, and the house-elves (albeit free, but still hardworking) were always around to help. Still, she was greatly displeased, for she and Pinky and spent the better part of the morning cooking a celebratory dinner which he would now not be attending.

Second, Dumbledore had owled her to inform her that her teaching schedule (pathetic as it was to even call it that) would be further discombobulated next week due to all that TriWizard Tournament nonsense. It had taken every ounce of Misha's strength not to respond with a terse, sarcastic little reply to the news. It wasn't that she hated her job, far from it. No, Misha adored Hogwarts and loved teaching there – even if it was only a day or two a week – but she loathed feeling second class. Music always got shuffled about in lieu of "more important" things – like the TriWizard Tournament apparently – and her schedule was erratic at best. And, to top it off she was forever being called in to substitute for other staff members especially Pomona Sprout, Sybil Trelawney, and Charity Burbage. The latter was particularly prone to sudden absences. "That woman took more sick days lat year than poor Professor Lupin and he, at least, had a valid excuse," thought Misha bitterly. Really, all she wanted was a steady job.

Misha was ready to throttle the next owl that came her way – an unusual reaction for a self-proclaimed animal lover.

Third, she'd seen yet in a Muggle magazine another advert featuring her horrid ex-boyfriend. "Tommy Hilfiger be damned, Chet can kiss my arse," she'd muttered at the glossy page. So what if he looked utterly delicious in those tight, blue swim trunks? He was still an arse and, to corrupt Gertrude Stein, an arse was an arse was an arse.

Forth, a hippogriff had suddenly appeared from nowhere and eaten Major General Stanley. Aberforth had only sent him over last week and now she had to explain to the old coot exactly what had happened to his precious goat. Worse yet, she felt compelled to track down the damned hippogriff. Not that Misha was angry at the beast - predation was its nature - but, Aberforth was notoriously lax in his animal husbandry skills and the buck had been riddled with worms which, although not fatal to a hippogriff, would certainly give the poor creature painful gas.

And so Misha came to find herself hiking up a hill on the outer edges of the Marrowstone property in search of a wild-but-gaseous hippogriff. She was not at all pleased. Earlier in the day she'd seen the creature carry the unfortunate ruminant up into the hills and disappear into the small cave she'd once played in as a child. So Misha slung a sack of dead ferrets (stuffed with Muggle antacid tablets) over her shoulder and set off for the cave.

By the time she reached the top of the hill she was even grumpier – not to mention dripping with sweat. Misha was just about to enter the cave when, to her horror, she heard voices. Three of them sounded familiar, Hogwarts students she vaguely recognized, but one, the adult, was gravely and unique. She held still for a moment listening to the four converse about Ludo Bagman (an absolute perv, from the rumors Misha had heard), the Crouchs (she barely knew them), and a bunch of unknown Death Eaters. In the background she could hear the hippogriff snorting softly and the muffled clicks as it chewed on what Misha surmized to be the bones of Major General Stanley. Eventually, she pinned down the female voice as belonging to Hermione Granger (whom she'd once found crying in an abandoned classroom and spent the next several hours comforting) which meant the other two were surely Potter and Weasley. Misha knew very little of the two of them other than that she'd banned the infamous "Potter Stinks" badges from her classroom and that Weasley tended to stare at her breasts.

But who was the fourth voice? And why in Merlin's name were these three sneaking about her property talking to some strange bloke? Cautiously, Misha crept around the corner and pointed her wand at the unsuspecting quartet.

"_Expelliarmus_!"

Three wands were set sailing across the cave.

"_Accio_ wands!"

Three wands flew into Misha's outstretched hand – a difficult move, all things considered, since she was still clutching her bouquet of dead ferrets. Four shocked faces stared back at her in varying degrees of surprise, fear, and dismay. Indeed, it was Granger, Potter, and the breast-obsessed Weasley, but the forth person literally took her breath away. There, standing in her own cave, was Sirius Black and despite the layers of grime and obvious emaciation, he was… gorgeous. His hair hung in long, matted near-dreadlocks around the most perfect face Misha had ever seen and his filthy tattered robes were unbuttoned enough to reveal a rather intriguing collection of tattoos. "I want to lick his chest," thought Misha, mentally chastising herself for her inappropriate, inopportune wantonness. This would never do. The poor man was gazing at her with a curious mixture of apprehension and defiance and the other three were dead silent.

"Erm, sorry?" Misha squeaked, handing the students back their wands. Realizing that Black had no wand she looked at him and shrugged apologetically. She twirled a strand of her light brown hair around her finger wishing desperately she could fix her messy ponytail and at least make some attempt at a decent impression.

"Professor Marrowstone, this is my godfather, Sirius Black." Potter turned glowered at Misha. "HEADMASTER DUMBLEDORE CAN ATTEST THAT HE IS PERFECTLY INNOCENT," he all but bellowed.

Misha looked at him blankly and turned back to Black with a smile. Hesitantly, she held out her hand. "Hi, I'm Misha," she said. Though attempting to keep herself composed, to her great horror, she heard herself giggle.

Black ignored it and took her hand, bringing it up to his lips in a painfully awkward gesture. "Please call me Sirius, " he rasped, "and I assure you that I am NOT a mass murderer."

"I rather assumed that," replied Misha, feeling absolutely stupid.

"Why?" Weasley broke in. "My father says that everyone in Wizarding Britain believes Sirius to be a murderer."

"Your father is an unwitting pawn of the oppressor," Misha shot back, adding more kindly, "Well, not in a bad way, I mean, I've met him and he's a nice bloke and all, but he does work for the Ministry."

Hermione flushed a nervous pink. "Professor Marrowstone, I'm not sure I understand."

"Sorry," began Misha, wishing desperately to be anywhere else than where she was. She wiped her hands on her Muggle jeans and squared her shoulders. "I was raised to look at things a little differently, I suppose." She blushed deeper than Hermione and stared at her feet, suddenly aware that she was wearing absurdly chunky, brown hiking boots. Sweet Merlin on toast! Her mother had always warned her never to discuss politics and always to wear proper shoes in public and here she was making a dreadful first impression, sweaty, political, awkward, and clutching a brace of dead rodents.

Four faces looked at her expectantly.

Misha turned to Hermione. "Well, Hermione, you're a Muggleborn, you've studied Muggle history, you of all people should get it."

Hermione said nothing, but appeared lost in thought.

"You, too, Potter," she added hopefully, but Harry just looked confused.

An eternity of silence followed as each occupant of the cave tried to make sense of the situation. It was agonizing. Worse than agonizing. Horrifying. And, to compound the issue, Black – or Sirius – seemed to be looking right through her. Merlin, but he made her nervous. For the millionth time in five minutes, Misha wished that she were not wearing old, faded too-tight jeans and an unwisely chosen jade green tank top that kept her cool, but did little to conceal her sizable chest. She looked ridiculous, like a fifteen-year old American tourist rather than a twenty-something pseudo-professor. It was really quite humiliating, but in her defense she was on her own property and she'd not expected to run into anyone but a gas-filled hippogriff.

Finally, Misha swallowed her pride and continued. "Well, you know, when a government wants to keep tight control over its citizens it instills fear in them to keep them in line. Part of that includes false accusations, disappearances, show trials, unfair incarcerations, and the suspension of the rule of law. Stalin was especially adept at it, but it's been done in virtually every dictatorship. Even in so-called "first world" countries like Britain and America many people are imprisoned falsely without…" She trailed off and looked hopefully around the cave. Hermione was nodding slowly and Sirius was actually beaming at her. Bravely, she continued, "Well, Sirius, you never got a trial, right?"

Sirius nodded, eyes firmly fixed on Misha's.

"So, logically, it stands to reason that, since nobody has ever successfully proved your guilt, you could just as easily be innocent and, frankly, most people who do not receive a trial are the latter."

"Thank you," asked Sirius said quietly. "Are you in Magical Law?" He shuffled almost nervously from foot to foot as if he'd not spoken to another adult human being in a decade – and perhaps he hadn't.

"Oh, hell, no," laughed Misha, green eyes flashing with mirth, "I'm a musician – and not a very good one at that."

"Huh," broke in Weasley, "I've heard you play and it was beautiful. I mean, you're like famous and everything. Your father is like some important composer or something and…"

Misha laughed again and shook her head. "Thank you, Ronald, that was very sweet, but hardly true. In the Wizarding world, I may be considered a bit talented, but in the Muggle world - as where my father performs - I am quite sadly average. Hence, I teach music at Hogwarts instead of landing a real orchestra job."

Since no one had a response to that, Misha forged awkwardly onward. "So, anyway, is that your hippogriff?" she asked Sirius, curtsying politely to the large, grey beast crunching chicken bones in the corner.

Sirius seemed to relax. His face broke into a grin, all yellowed teeth and shining eyes. "This is my friend, Buckbeak."

Misha smiled. There was something rather endearing about a man who referred to a hippogriff as a friend rather than a pet or a possession.

"Do you mind of I give him something?" asked Misha. "Apparently, he ate Major General Stanley and…"

"What?" asked Sirius, looking both horrified and thoroughly confused.

"My goat... Major General Stanley… well, actually Aberforth Dumbledore's goat, but he'd loaned him to us for breeding and Buckbeak… that is his name, right?... ate him and so now I have these ferrets stuffed with Muggle antacids and…" Misha was painfully aware that she was speaking at the rate of a speeding thestral, but had little clue as to how to stop. Thankfully, Harry Potter stepped in to do it for her.

"YOU'RE NOT GOING TO POISON HIM, ARE YOU?" he cried, looking suspiciously at the dead ferrets.

"Oh, hell, no," giggled Misha (again mentally kicking herself for the giggle). "But the Major General Stanley had… erm... worms… and, whilst they won't hurt poor Buckbeak, they will give him rather painful gas."

Silence filled the cave and Misha cringed inwardly at the thought of discussing internal livestock parasites with a man she'd barely me. What a first impression, she worried. He would surely find her a fool.

But Sirius seemed immune to such thoughts and continued to stare at her with a frown. "Oh, I'm very sorry," he apologized, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

Misha looked at him perplexed.

"Your goat, I mean. I'd offer to pay for the damages, but…" He shrugged, obviously indicating the fact that he had nothing in the way of money.

Misha shook her head and began tossing ferrets to the excited hippogriff. "Oh, not at all. Major General Stanley was a terrible goat - dreadful, really - and he was starting to get stinky, too. He's no loss, I assure you, and I certainly don't…"

"…seek a penalty fifty-fold?" finished Sirius, offering her a charming smile.

"What?" asked Harry. "Why would you penalize Sirius for Buckbeak kiiling a goat you didn't even want? That seems a bit unfair, mind you."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but Misha laughed again. "It's a line from an operetta," she said, eyes fixed firmly on Sirius. She hummed the song softly under her breath and threw another ferret to Buckbeak who caught it in mid-air. Oddly, Sirius began to hum along. "Sirius, may I ask you a personal question?"

Sirius looked at her with those incredible grey eyes and nodded.

"How do you even know that song?"

Now it was Sirius' turn to bark out a laugh. "After Hogwarts I lived with Remus Lupin and he was, shall we say, very fond of Pirates of Penzance."

For a moment, Misha wondered precisely how close the two of them had been. She'd known Remus for years and knew of his orientation. She opened her mouth to ask and then decided that was utterly inappropriate and settled on merely nodding.

"You'd think that I'd have forgotten that," continued Sirius, growing slightly more agitated. He wrapped his arms across his too-thin cheat and mumbled into his shoulder. "You forget so many things in Azkaban… so many happy memories… and…" he trailed off looking quite nervous and uncomfortable.

Misha fought the urge to take his hand. "Well," she said, "it proves my theory then."

"What's that?" asked Hermione, looking altogether too interested in the subject.

"That, no matter how one looks at it, Gilbert and Sullivan is NOT a happy memory."

Everyone laughed, but Misha continued to feel slightly foolish. The absolute last thing she wanted to do was to lead Sirius to believe she was making light of Azkaban. But, to her great relief, he was the one laughing the hardest. Perhaps he'd take the remark as a sign of acceptance, she hoped. She was about to say something to this effect when a low, blatting sound filled the cave. This was followed by a vicious stench not unlike rotten eggs.

"Sweet Merlin, what IS that," gasped Ron, looking slightly green.

Another rumbling blared and this time Misha picture it as a great, green cloud rolling across the dusty floor of the cavern. "Erm, yeah," she said, "I'm afraid that, in order to prevent build-up, the antacids might make Buckbeak rather flatulent."

"Oh," said Harry, sounding a bit nauseated. Hermione appeared she might vomit and Ron had turned an alarming shade of green. Sirius, on the other hand, seemed positively unfazed, causing Misha to wonder just what olfactory horrors he'd experienced since being arrested.

"So," began Misha brightly, "anyone want to come for tea?"

To be continued... (Please review.)


	2. Chapter 2 Misha

**Chapter Two (Misha):**

Again, a long painful pause. No one seemed to know what to say, but merely looked at one another beseechingly. Finally, Harry broke the silence. "With all due respect, Professor Marrowstone…"

"Please, we're not in Hogwarts, call me Misha."

"…Misha, how do we know that it's safe?"

"Safe from whom?" asked Misha, unsure of whether or not to be offended.

"Safe for Sirius. You know, he's on the lam and all," finished Hermione as she sent Harry a death glare.

That made quite a bit of sense, actually, and Misha found she was rather pleased with Harry for being so protective of his godfather.

"It'll be _fine_, Harry," said Sirius pointedly. He was standing straighter now, looking at his godson as if trying to convey an urgent telepathic message. Harry, unfortunately seemed to remain oblivious.

Misha sighed. Sirius had made a confession and so she could, too. She may not have been a Gryffindor, but even Hufflepuffs could be brave. "Oh, it's headily warded and the Ministry would _never_ come around. It's kind of an unspoken agreement, actually.

"An unspoken agreement as to what?" asked Ron.

Misha paled. "Well… you know that my late mother was a potions expert, right? She founded Avia… that so-called posh spa in London? And they also make cosmetic and aroma therapy products sold both in Diagon Ally and a few, small, Muggle boutiques." She paused, awaiting any sort of response that would indicate that she was not babbling mercilessly, again.

Hermione and Sirius nodded, Harry and Ron just looked blank.

"Well, in addition to her reputation as a socialite, she was also quite a talented witch and social activist. She brewed Wolfsbane and hired werewolves on a regular basis to work in the labs – lycanthropes' increased sense of smell lends itself well to work in fragrance, but that's not really the point I'm making. My mother was into alternative medicine and helping Muggles… and… well, _she also liked to garden_." Misha stopped and drew in a deep breath, trying to calm her pounding heart.

"Huh?" said Harry. Ron looked equally unenlightened, but Hermione's eyes held a hint of understanding and Sirius was trying to stifle a laugh.

"So you... erm… grow things?" he asked Misha with a smirk.

Misha pulled her hair free of the ponytail shaking her hair out in what she hoped was a casual gesture. Light brown curls tumbled down her back, but only for a moment, as she refastened her elastic band and nodded at Sirius.

"Like illegal things?" Sirius ventured again.

Misha chanced a glance around the cave. Harry looked confused, Ron appeared vaguely horrified, and Hermione remained composed. Sirius, on the other hand, was clearly enjoying himself with this line of questioning.

"Yes, but nothing Dark," huffed Misha. She looked purposefully at Ron and added, "We grow most of the botanicals for our family spa business, but we also make cookies and brownies laced with herbs and Wizard medicine, some of which we distribute to sick Muggles."

"Why?" asked Harry. "I mean, isn't that a little risky?"

Misha shook her head. "Not really, it keeps people alive and well and, though the Ministry would never admit it outright, helps encourage Wizard-Muggle relations. Of course, they don't know we're magic they just know we have 'Magic Brownies.' "

Sirius started outright laughing, holding his sides, and shaking violently with mirth. "So you grow canna…"

"Yes," spat Misha, "and aconite and fluxweed and knotgrass and many other things." She glared at him defiantly. "Honestly, it's no big deal," she challenged, "I'm quite sure that you smoked it before Azka…" She cut herself off again, hesitant to bring-up his years in prison.

"Before Azkaban, yes, yes I did," laughed Sirius.

"Smoked what?" asked Harry.

"Nevermind," said Hermione, Misha, and Sirius at virtually the same time.

Harry just shrugged continued to look confuses. "So, to tea than, shall we?" he asked brightly. Obviously, even Harry Potter knew when not to press the issue.

"Most definitely," cried Sirius and the five set off down the hill.

Mercifully, downhill is far quicker and less exhausting that up hill and, this time, Misha never even broke a sweat. Instead, she chatted merrily with Sirius and Harry about plants and what they grew. For his part, Sirius at least pretended to be interested – at least he spent most of his time looking at her. But every now and then, he would open his mouth to say something only to be cut off by Hermione with a sharp, shake of the head.

Still, in no time the group found themselves standing before a dilapidated gate beyond which could be seen knee-high crabgrass and the ruins of a tiny cottage.

"You live here?" asked Ron. "I thought you supposed to be rich or something."

"Ronald," hissed Hermione and then sent Misha an apologetic smile.

But Misha merely chuckled, pulled out her wand, and began muttering counter-spells to the Wards. Soon the gate shimmered and slowly swung opened, revealing an verdant expanse of gardens and orchards punctuates by small sheds and what appeared to be miles of greenhouses. At first the smell and colors were overwhelming, despite being early spring, everything was in either full-bloom of full fruit and the air was redolent with the scent of roses, pears, and a myriad of unknown flowers and herbs. And standing above it all was a large, comfortable-looking house that appeared to be an 18th-century hunting lodge. "Welcome to Marrowstone Manor – farm, more like," smirked Misha, ushering the group through the gate.

"This is more how I remembered it," Sirius whispered not quite under his breath.

Misha stopped dead, causing the others in the band to shuffle to stop as well. "_Excuse_ me? Are you implying that you've been here before?" This was alarming on multiple levels. She's just given assurances that they would be perfectly safe and then Sirius blithely announces a security breach? A cold shiver crept up her spine, but she pressed onward, "How did you cross the Wards. Only animals can cross the Wards, but even on Buckbeak's back, you would have been detected."

Sirius paled even further (a miracle considering he'd clearly not seen the sun much to begin with) and wrapped his arms around his chest once again. "I'm sorry," he stammered, "I was hungry and I just wanted see and…" The air shimmered around him as the magic danced in the air and before her eyes Sirius Black disappeared and in his place sat an enormous black dog. The beast sat suddenly on his haunches, looking at Misha with wide, sad eyes.

Good Merlin, he was an Amimagus, too? But wait, she'd seen that dog before. And suddenly it his her. He was the dog she'd seen wandering about their property and had tried to coax into the barn. Oh, dear Merlin on toast, she's _baby-talked_ him! And tried to bribe him with stew. And, oh Gods, one day last week she'd sat there scratching his ears and yammering to him about how she was such a loser who couldn't find a real job. The day was veering from chaotic to humiliating in a few short minutes.

"Oh, shit." It was all she could say.

Sirius turned back into a man and looked at her pleadingly. "Please know I never meant to steal anything. It was just a few eggs and some cookies," he urged. "I will work to pay you back, I promise."

"I don't care that you took food, we have plenty, but OH GODS I HAVE YOU THAT NASTY STEW!!" Misha wailed. "And I swear on my mother's grave that I do NOT usually baby-talk animals like that…" She turned a rather inelegant crimson and added, "Oh shit and I scratched your ears!"

"I rather liked that," replied Sirius in a low voice, adding, "No one had touched me kindly in over a decade, it felt… wonderful."

Misha fought the urge to reach out and scratch him behind the ears right there and then, but settled on another apology. "But the stew," she whined, "it was disgusting. Well past its prime. If I'd known you were actually human, I'd never have made you eat that."

"The stew was quite delicious," Sirius assured her, patting her hand gently.

"Says the guy who's been eating rats," broke in Ron.

"You eat rats?" asked Misha and Sirius nodded.

Hermione rolled her eyes yet again and apologized on behalf of all of her companions. "They're cretins, but they mean well," she said with a wan smile.

Misha just laughed. Recovering her shattered dignity, she invited her guests into the house with a promise that whatever she could dredge up for tea, would certainly be better than rats.

And it proved to be so. Having spent the morning preparing a feast that would never take place, it was quite a relief to have someone who would eat it. And, oh, could Sirius eat it. He made his way through a mountain of roasted summer squash, several pounds of cold roast beef, and three-quarters of a cherry pie before even pausing to speak. Instead, he merely watched quietly as the kids asked Misha myriad questions and poked about through her possessions. Frankly, Misha found it unnerving.

Throughout the entire meal, Misha had been rambling about freed house-elves and Ministry corruption, but all she really wanted to do was talk to Sirius. Unfortunately for all involved, Ronald Weasley refused to leave her alone.

"Hey, Misha," he began, "I heard a rumor about you and I was wondering of it was true."

"Yes, by boobs are real," thought Misha snidely, but the query was decidedly more serious.

"I heard that you can legally use Unforgivable Curses," finished Ron.

The only sound was the soft clinking of silverware and a muffled gasp from Hermione.

"Well, not curses, plural. Just _Avada Kedavra_, really and only in a specific situation."

"Like what?" squeaked Harry.

Misha tool a sip of tea and nodded toward the ham Sirius was currently piling onto his plate.

"LIKE SIRIUS?!?!?!" cried Harry, reaching for his wand.

"No, I think she means the ham," laughed Sirius. "Am I not correct?"

Misha sighed. "Yeah, that's pretty much it. Most farmers can perform it on animals, actually." Seeing the disbelief of the students she added, "It's rather more humane that the way Muggles do it – which I won't get into since we _are_ eating…"

"Electrodes in the anal cavity," supplied Hermione helpfully. Ron paled and even Sirius looked down at his ham in horror.

"…but I try to be as humane as possible about it," Misha continued. "I just kneel down and tell the pig he was a good pig and wish him well in the next life and then… I simply do it." Great, she thought, now they'll think I'm as loony as that poor Ravenclaw girl with the protuberant eyes and high, light soprano voice. What was her name? Luna something?

"So you've never performed it on a human?" Hermione persisted.

Misha said nothing, but went on to offer Sirius some cake that he gladly accepted. And so the meal continued, Unforgivable Curses forgotten in lieu of getting to know one another. And when Sirius eventually seemed ready, Misha forged ahead.

"Sirius, do you mind my asking how you escaped?"

Smiling at Misha and at his beloved godson, the tale unfolded. Sirius told of his capture, his imprisonment, and eventual escape in canine form. He described his year on the run and all that has happened that fateful night in the Shrieking Shack, but he never took his eyes of off Misha. Still, Misha could not help but notice the look in his eye when he described his reunion with his "old friend" Remus Lupin. She hummed sympathetically at this portion of the story, hoping for elaboration, but he continued undaunted, describing his recent months on the run.

"So, now you're hiding all alone in my cave keeping a protective eye on Harry?" Misha asked, pouring Sirius another cup of tea.

"Essentially, yes. And I'm sorry for the trespassing. I didn't know anyone owned it."

Misha said nothing, but merely looked thoughtful. "Sirius," she began slowly, "may I ask you something else?"

"Of course."

"Do you like it in the cave?"

Sirius shrugged. "Well, it's dry and comparatively warm, so I suppose I could say yes."

It was now or never. Misha gathered the remnants of her courage and asked softly, "Would you like to stay here. I mean, we have plenty of room and we're even Warded against Dementors."

"Why on earth are you warded against Dementors?" asked Harry, but Sirius was grinning from ear to ear.

"Cold. They cause frost damage," Misha replied, adding, "So Sirius, will you stay? We can go get Buckbeak and keep him in the stables. He'll be happy there – plenty of goats, I suppose."

The students laughed, but looked expectantly at Sirius who rose from his chair and placed reached to take Misha's hand. "I would be honored," he said. "But I don't want to be a bother."

"Nonsense," said Misha. And so it was decided that Sirius Black would become the houseguest of the century.


	3. Chapter 3 Sirius

**Chapter Three (Sirius)**

Sirius sighed and rolled over in his unfamiliar bed. Despite the fact that, for the first time in nearly thirteen years he had a thick, soft mattress with crisp, clean sheets (and even a soft down duvet), he found himself unable to sleep. So much had happened in a single day and all he could think about was Misha - and not necessarily in a good way.

Oh, she seemed a fine person, if rather chatty and slightly over-political. But she was strange, albeit very kind. All that talk about the Muggle world and refusing to say if she was a Muggleborn, Halfblood, or Pureblood? (She was clearly the latter.) Sirius wondered why in the hell Ron had asked her that, anyway, but he was quickly learning that Ronald Weasley was prone to asking inane questions – especially to pretty females. Wait, did he just think that Misha Marrowstone was pretty? This was not good.

Ron had picked through a scrapbook he'd found sitting atop of a bookcase and asked Misha if she used to be a model. Although hardly pleased with his nosiness, Misha managed to evade the question by saying that the class was something her late mother had pushed her to do and that she didn't want to talk about it. She also mumbled vaguely about the experiencing teaching her that she was fat and that she didn't quite care. Frankly, Misha didn't look all that large to Sirius, but he had to admit that, at several stone underweight, he might not be the best judge of that.

Then at one point Ron looked right at Misha and said, "Damn, your boyfriend must really like you."

Misha frowned and attempted (and failed) to be polite. "Excuse me? Boyfriend? I haven't had anything resembling a boyfriend for the last five months, thank you very much!"

Sirius found himself being secretly glad and then much more openly ashamed of his feelings.

Ron, meanwhile, had looked quite sheepish and then pointed to her neck and remarked upon what he termed her "giant hickey." For a moment, Sirius had actually believed that Misha would strangle the red-headed fool, but thankfully Hermione had intervened. "Ron, you imbecile, she plays the _violin_. It's a bruise from her instrument."

Misha had just laughed and passed Sirius more ham before launching into a long series of questions about his becoming an Animagus. It was unnerving how much that girl actually listened to him. Back at Hogwarts, Sirius had been very much in love with the sound of his own voice, but after over a decade in prison, he found he was reticent to speak. Except to Harry. He could always talk to Harry.

Sirius tossed and turned on the softly-scented linen sheets and tried to make himself fall asleep. But sleep was, as always quite evasive. And the threat of dreams even more foreboding.

He missed Buckbeak. Yes, he knew that his friend was happy in the stables, but over the past year, Sirius had come to find the hippogriff's gentle snores quite soothing in the small, sleepless hours of the morning. The Marrowstone House was much too quiet. Almost eerily so. Sirius had remarked on this at one point and Misha had responded casually that the whole house was permeated with Silencing Charms because, in a house of musicians, one could have it no other way. It made sense, granted, but the quiet remained disconcerting.

In fact, disconcerting might be an appropriate term for his whole experience as guest in this household. Within minutes of entering her home, the house-elves (who were wearing clothes, no less) produced a feast that the claimed Misha had helped them prepare earlier in the day. "What kind of person cooks alongside her house-elves?" Sirius wondered.

And the house-elves themselves were more than slightly strange. Not only did they wear clothes but one of them, Winter, sewed them herself. Winter had appeared at the table wearing a modest little dress sewn from what looked to be a red and white checked tablecloth. Hermione, ever the little S.P.E.W. activist, had remarked upon the irony of this and the elf had replied almost reproachfully, "That's the point, miss."

Misha chuckled (the girl laughed a lot, come to think of it) and told Winter that the dress was "a fine play on mid-Century Americana." Sirius had no idea what that even meant, but Winter had offered to make him a whole new wardrobe and Misha had given her permission along with a warning: "Normal clothes, Winter. Plain robes, Muggle jeans, shirts, a nice cloak… that sort of thing. He's supposed to blend in. Remember, he escaped from Azkaban, not Milan!" Shockingly, the house-elf had all-but talked back to her at which point Misha had told her point-blank that Sirius was in charge of his own clothing and not to play any games with him. She'd turned to Sirius and smirked, "And don't let her convince you that 'everyone wears jodhpurs now' or some such nonsense. They clearly don't. Winter fancies herself a designer, and she's quite talented, but even the best do prêt-a-porter." Sirius could only smile wanly, for, once again, he had no clue what she was talking about.

In fact, he'd spent much of the past twelve hours being utterly disorientated by Misha and her household. Even her bathroom was puzzling. Ashamed of his own filth, he's hesitantly asked her if he could take a shower and she'd shown him to a bathroom that contained not only an enormous shower, but a bathtub nearly the size of the Prefects Bath at Hogwarts. It also contained a bewildering array of cleansing and hygiene products the likes of which Sirius had never seen. "Oh, it's all spa stuff," Misha had said dismissively. "Help yourself to anything."

And, despite his being not quite sure of what everything actually was, he did as instructed. He stayed under the scalding spray for nearly forty minutes relishing in the joy of finally being clean. He scrubbed his back. He trimmed his beard. He washed his hair for the first time in over twelve years. And he felt marvelous. Best of all, everything smelled heavenly. There were lotions and dubious-looking mousses and even something he found rather useful in detangling his matted hair. Sirius had emerged from the bathroom over an hour later, sated and happy and wearing the fluffy white dressing gown Misha had given him. He felt glorious, almost handsome. And, then, there was Misha, appearing as if from nowhere in the darkness of the hallway and flashing him the sweetest smile. Merlin, what was he thinking? This was utterly inappropriate!

Even Hermione had noticed it. She's kicked him under the table about one thousand times during tea. When he admitted to Misha that, as Padfoot, he'd often sneaked into her garden at dusk, just to watch her picking tomatoes, Misha had blushed, but, thanks to Hermione, he'd nearly lost a toe. Damn, that girl could stomp. "She's going to think you're daft!" the fluffy-haired harpy hissed when Misha got up to fetch more Earl Grey.

And things grew worse as the day progressed. As the students were leaving, Misha said her good-byes and retreated to the kitchen, giving Sirius space. He'd hugged Harry fiercely, promising to always watch over him, and shaken hands with Ron and Hermione. But, true to form, Hermione leaned in and whispered into his ear, "Please don't try anything, Sirius. I've seen the blokes she dates and her boyfriends are always young and handsome."

That had stung more than Sirius cared to admit. Once _he_ had been the young and handsome one, but, thank you, Hermione, apparently, no longer. He wasn't even sure if he was interested, but her words still hurt. Worse yet, Misha seemed to notice his sadness, making him feel all the more pathetic. But as the evening wore on, Sirius' mood improved. Being clean helped, as did the wine, the food, and her rather fine homegrown. Away from the students, Misha was far more relaxed, less frenetic in her speech and more playful. "You know," she'd whispered over dinner, "Hermione might well be 'the brightest witch of her age,' but she isn't right about _everything_." Sirius had said nothing, but began to wonder about the efficacy of the Silencing Charms.

They'd stayed up late talking and laughing and telling stories. Misha insisted on providing more and more food and Sirius persisted in eating it. "Not a bad arrangement at all," thought Sirius. But as midnight approached and they began to tire, the awkwardness returned. She showed him to his room, which appeared cozy enough, but Sirius hesitated, fearing to tell her the truth: he'd not been alone at night since Azkaban.

For the past year Buckbeak had been his constant companion. And, when the nightmares came (which they inevitably did), he had another living being to whom he could turn. It gave him great comfort to know the great beast was keeping watch in the night. He'd never admit this, but the thought of sleeping without Buckbeak nearby made him nervous.

But now he was alone. Alone with his entirely inappropriate thoughts and in someone else's house. What was he to do? Why was he feeling this way? Sirius Black had dated several girls, but he'd only had one love and _he_ had rejected Sirius back in 1981. Remus Lupin was still his friend, but claimed he would never again to be his lover. And that thought pained Sirius even more than Hermione's earlier words. It was a thought that haunted his nightmares.

Finally, after hours of tossing and turning, Sirius drifted off to sleep.

Suddenly, the room turned cold. Frost formed in cracks along the lead-paned windows and the fire blazed icy in the hearth. In the oppressive silence of his newfound prison, Sirius could see his own fearful breath. He was alone. Abandoned. Unloved. Then the Dementors came, claw-like hands reaching toward him, mouths open, eager for the kiss. And Sirius screamed.

He was still screaming when Misha came stumbling into the room wand at the ready.

"Shit! Sirius, love, are you okay? WAKE-UP!"

He opened his eyes to see her pale, worried face and extended his hand, grabbing her by the wrist. "Stay. Please."


	4. Chapter 4 Misha

**Chapter Four (Misha)**

"Stay. Please."

Misha froze, both slightly terrified and strangely moved. She'd been sleeping soundly, dreaming about taking a Charms Exam whilst naked (it was a pathetic recurring theme) when the bloodcurdling screams cut through her consciousness. Jarred awake, she looked around as the scream rang out again. It was Sirius. It had to have been. Frankly, she'd never heard anything so horrifying in her entire life.

Her first thought was Dementors and, though their presence was technically impossible, she would take no chances and readied herself to fight. Misha grabbed her wand and leapt out of bed without another thought. For a fleeting moment, reality and dream became blurred as she sprinted down the hallway disoriented, hoping she was not, in fact, actually naked. But, as time seemed to slow down to a crawl, a nagging little voice in the back of her mind told her that it would not matter, anyway. Saving Sirius was simply too important. Finally, she worked up the courage to look down, smiling grimly as she realized that she was, indeed wearing her own doggy-print pyjama bottoms and a black tank top. What an outfit in which to fight Dementors!

But, moments later, when she burst panting into Sirius' room, she found it empty, but for the thin, deathly pale man who lay screaming and writhing on the bed. She approached him cautiously and touched him gently on the shoulder. A Muggle friend had told her that it was dangerous to wake a sleepwalker, but Sirius wasn't exactly walking, was he? Still, she did not want to risk making things worse. "Sirius?" she asked softly, "Sirius, mate, are you alright?"

But he continued to scream.

She briefly considered casting a _Rennervate_ , but thought the better of it and settled for simply touching his shoulder and nudging him gently. But when he still failed to open his eyes, Misha began to panic, shaking him harder. "Shit! Sirius, love, are you okay? WAKE-UP!"

Sirius shuddered and jolted awake; fearful grey eyes looked up at her, questioning. She plopped herself down on the bed next to him and smoothed the hair back from his brow, but he merely reached-up and grabbed her hand saying, "Stay. Please."

It took everything in her power not to simply lie down right there.

Sirius clutched her hand more tightly. "I would never, I promise… you can trust me… I wouldn't try to…" He broke off and looked dejectedly down at his hand. "I don't even think I could, anyway… Azkaban kind of…"

"I know," she said kindly, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. She'd never been there, of course, and she could not even imagine the terrors the prison held, but it made perfect sense that the Dementors, who sucked away happy memories, would also affect sexual ability. "It's okay, love," she whispered. "I'll be here."

Sirius smiled, but his grin faded as Misha slid off the bed.

"But first," she said, grabbing his wrist and pulling him forward, "I have an idea. Come with me." Almost reluctantly, Sirius followed and, hand in hand, they made their way out of the room.

The first thing they encountered was a handful of worried, pyjama-clad house-elves, one of whom was bearing a small silver tray of chocolate truffles. "Here, Master Black," she cried, pushing the tray into his face. "Pinky was thinking that maybe chocolate would help with dream Dementors, too."

Surprised, Sirius reached for a chocolate and popped it into his mouth, smiling gratefully.

"They're good, are they not? Pinky made them herself! Have another!" And Sirius did. The third one, however, he offered to Misha.

"_She_ doesn't really need one now, does she?" huffed the house-elf called Winter. Misha flushed and said nothing, but Sirius gave the elf a hard stare and turned to Misha again. "Please," he said simply.

Misha stuck her tongue out at the irritated little creature who stood tapping her small, slipper-clad toe against the carpet. "Thank you, Sirius," she said, nibbling on the edge of the candy.

"Oh! I promised my poor, dead Mistress…" began Winter.

"Enough!!" shouted Misha. She grabbed the remaining two truffles and handed them to Sirius before dragging him on down the hallway. "Thank you, Pinky, you're an angel as always," she called over her shoulder. Pinky blushed and dropped into a small curtsey.

For his part, Sirius looked perplexed but slightly amused. The color was returning to his cheeks and his breathing seemed much more normal. "What was all that about?" he asked around a mouthful of truffle.

Misha grumbled. Truth be told, she did not want to answer, but something about Sirius seemed to call for absolute honesty. "Winter made a death-bed promise to my mother," she sighed. "She swore that she would forever watch over me and monitor my weight to prevent me from getting fat. Er… fatter."

Sirius narrowed his eyes. "But you're not fat," he said stupidly.

Misha smiled and squeezed his hand. "You're very sweet, Sirius Black, but that is an ultimately Wizard-like thing to say. In the Muggle world – especially my mother's world of celebrity and fashion – I am a right cow. Thin is in. In fact, I could stand to lose at least a half-stone."

Sirius clearly had no idea what to say. "So I could almost be fashionable like this?" he tried to joke.

Misha smiled but was thankfully saved from further response by their arrival at the bathroom. What could she have said, anyway? "You're gorgeous, Sirius, just the way you are?" T_hat_ certainly would have gone over without embarrassment!

The bathroom was quite chilly when they entered and Sirius stood barefoot and shivering on the tile floor. But Misha merely cast a few Warming Charms and began to fill the tub with bubbles and warm water.

Sirius looked crestfallen. "I'm sorry… do I… so I still smell bad?" he mumbled. He could not even meet her eye.

"What? No, of course not," Misha laughed. "This is just to make you feel better." She happily noted the relief in his eyes. "Now go get changed," she said, pointing to the small dressing-cubicle at the other end of the room. "There's swim trunks there. Or, if you prefer, you could just go naked. Most people do."

This latter she could not even say without blushing. "Okay, I'llmeetyouinthetubforyourmassage," she squeaked before running full bore for her own dressing cubicle. Good, Merlin, did she really just suggest that he get naked? What the hell was wrong with her? Sure, people did it at the spa all the time, but still…

Moments later she emerged wearing a pony-tail and the traditional Avia uniform of white and gold swim tank and white swim shorts each bearing the Avia phoenix insignia. Sirius was already standing waist deep in bubbles and, against her better judgment, Misha tried to sneak a peak at what he was wearing. Thankfully – or not – the bubbles were far too thick to see much of anything.

She swam out to meet him and led him to the proper spot. "_Mensa Consurgo_!" she cried and a plateau of water rose out of the tub.

"Climb on!" she gestured, lowering the flat-topped column so that Sirius could lie comfortably upon it. "On your back please." A doughnut-shaped, circle of water appeared at the end of the aquatic massage table. "You can rest your head in there," Misha said.

Sirius looked a bit unsure, but dutifully clambered up onto the table, resting his head in magic circle of water. A small blanket of magical bubbles covered his crotch.

"Comfortable?" asked Misha, reaching into a waterproof basket for oil.

"Yeah," breathed Sirius. And he genuinely seemed to be.

Misha oiled up her hands and the fragrance of linden, passionflower, and coconut filled the room. She began rubbing small circles on Sirius' shoulders and neck. As she worked, she spoke softly to him, low tones barely penetrating their private space. "Eventually, I'm to take over operations at Avia, so my parents thought it a good idea for me to learn every aspect of the family business. The actual business and marketing part is really quite dreadful, but the potion making and massage lessons were fascinating."

Sirius tried to respond, but she shushed him gently saying, "Shhhh, Sirius, just be. Relax. I'll stop babbling. Let me know if something makes you uncomfortable or where you want more attention, yeah?"

"Feels great," he purred.

"Then close your eyes."

Misha worked small, fluttering circles across his face and brow and gently massaged his jaw, feeling him relax beneath her fingers. From this vantage point, Misha could see how truly handsome he was beneath the many years of pain and worry. But she quickly banished such thoughts, for this moment was about providing comfort rather than seduction. She moved down to once again go over his neck and shoulders before attacking the tense muscles of his chest.

"You have such interesting body art, you'll have to give me a tour someday," whispered Misha, praying it sounded more conversational that seductive. His tatts _were_ sexy, though, and she could almost feel the tingling magic of them passing though her fingertips as she kneaded his muscles. She moved on to his arms, pulling the negative energy (as she'd learned to call it) from his heart to his fingertips. Sirius moaned slightly as she rubbed his fingertips and it took every ounce of her strength not to take them into her mouth and suck. "But he's not, yet, ready," she reminded herself.

Working his legs took even more strength of will for, as she made her way up his thighs, the urge to part that blanket of bubbles that covered his crotch became nearly overwhelming. It was almost a relief when she asked him to flip over onto his belly so that she could massage his back.

Sirius' back was amazing. While his chest was thin, all protruding ribs and sunken wells of neglect, his upper back rippled with muscle. "Probably from riding Buckbeak," she thought to herself. Still, her breath caught at the sight of the knobs of vertebrae that ran down his spine. Clearly, the man had been starving. Nevertheless, she made pressed her thumbs gently on either side of each knob, working out the knots of tension.

Beneath her hands, Sirius seemed to relax entirely, a small smile playing upon his lips. But for his occasional comment or grunt of pleasure, she would have thought the man was asleep. She worked her way down his spine and toward that delicious dip before the rise of his arse. Misha reminded herself that many people experienced lower-back pain and that sleeping on rocky cave floors and riding a saddle-less hippogriff would surely contribute to such, but she remained hesitant to move down further.

"Why're you stopping?" mumbled Sirius, raising his head slightly. He fixed her with a penetrating grey gaze that took her breath away.

"Erm, just want you to be comfortable," she replied, resuming her work. She was fast approaching the line of bubbles that covered his arse. Did she dare? She'd just reached the edge of the bubble-line when the realization hit her: her fingers had yet to find fabric. Sirius was completely naked. Undaunted, she pressed onward – literally – massaging the muscles of his arse as he writhed in pleasure. She longed to know whether or not this was actually turning him on but contented herself with her work.

Finally, after nearly an hour of working his body, her hands were tired and her fingers aching. "Okay, then, Sirius?" she asked.

Sirius rolled off the watery table and dunked himself underwater, freeing himself from his blanket of bubbles. "I feel fantastic," he growled.

Misha tried, but failed to avert her eyes. Apparently, he didn't feel all _that_ fantastic. And Sirius followed her gaze, blushing with shame. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "I just… can't."

"It's fine, love," she said, stepping forward to pat him consolingly on the arm. And suddenly they were kissing, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, his mouth hot upon hers. Ah, this was something he could still do quite well, apparently!

But as quickly as he'd begun it, it was over. Sirius pulled back and looked at Misha with fearful eyes. "I'm sorry," he said softly, "I shouldn't have done that."

"I rather enjoyed it, actually," laughed Misha, kissing him on the cheek. "Now let's go get changed."

Minutes later, dry and dressed for bed, the pair found themselves standing awkwardly in the hallway. Sirius shuffled his feet and squirmed shyly. "Misha, I really didn't mean to overstep my bounds there," he began. He looked at her nervously. "And, I can sleep on my own if you don't feel comfortable anymore…"

"Of course I do," snapped Misha, too loudly for her own comfort. She smiled apologetically. "Now, your room or mine?"

Sirius shrugged, but smiled in relief. Obviously, Misha noted, he was still a bit reluctant to be alone. "Yours?" he suggested. And, hand in hand, they padded down the hallway toward her bedroom.

Opening the door, she saw to her horror that floor was barely visible beneath a veritable sea of books and parchment and discarded clothing. "Excuse the mess," she said, kicking the myriad fashion detritus off of the floor. "I try to keep the rest of the house fairly neat but people so rarely see my bedroom…" She kicked herself. Had she just made herself sound like a loser? Not to mention a total slob?

But Sirius just smiled and straightened the blankets for her. He crawled in and patted the empty spot beside him. Relieved, Misha snuggled in next to him and pulled closed the bed-curtains. Sirius smelled of soap and massage oil, of contentment and happiness. "Thank you," he whispered, kissing Misha gently on the lips.

"Thank _you_," she replied. She turned and nuzzled into Sirius' chest, hoping vainly for another kiss, but he was already fast asleep.


	5. Chapter 5 Sirius

**Chapter Five (Sirius)**

Sirius awoke alone in an unfamiliar bed. Years ago, before Azkaban and even before Remus, he would have been quite proud of himself. Such an occurrence would have made a nice (not to mention genuine) addition to the fiction that he'd fashioned as his reputation, but now it only felt lonely. Hell, years ago, it would have felt lonely, too, had it ever actually happened.

Sirius rolled over in the empty bed, pressing his face into Misha's pillow. Though he'd slept deeply and well, he'd secretly hoped to wake-up by her side, nuzzled in her thick, light brown hair, and knowing that she was just as contented to be there as he was. But apparently she wasn't and that didn't bode well. Sighing, he punched the pillow and flung it irritably across the room. "Damn it," he grumbled, as he heard the distant crash of something shattering. He peeked his head out of the bed-curtains and examined the shattered remains of an antique Muggle lamp. Shit.

But as he pulled his head back into the curtained shelter of Misha's bed, something smacked him gently on the forehead and he looked up to see a small, folded piece of parchment fluttering about on papery wings. The note dove again, striking him gently on the nose before rearing back for another attack. But Sirius was too quick. Catching it deftly in midair, he unfolded the note to read:

_Good morning, Sirius! I woke-up around 8:00 and couldn't go back to sleep so I got up to get stuff done. I need to practice and to work-out, anyway. Obviously, __you__ needed your sleep, so I just left you to it. Tap this parchment three times with __your__ my wand (on the nightstand) and say, "Where the hell is Misha?" It should tell you where I am. This is a little trick my father and I use when we're both home and working around the farm. _

_Love,_

_Misha_

_PS. We'll work on getting you a wand later. _

Sirius read the note several times, blinking in surprise. Admittedly, he was a little dismayed to see someone use the same sort of magic as they had for the Marauder's Map, but, nevertheless, he grabbed her wand from the nightstand, tapped it three times, and said, "Where the hell is Misha?" As he suspected, a simple line-map of the Marrowstone property appeared with a small, red dot labeled "Misha" hovering about in a room not too far from where he lay.

Sirius frowned down at the map for a moment, noting that, according to the damned thing, Misha appeared to be the only one home. "That can't be right," he muttered and tapped that parchment again asking, "Where the hell is Sirius Black?" Predictably, his dot appeared in the room labeled "Misha's bedroom."

"Ah," he thought to himself, "so it's not quite _that_ advanced, after all." Nevertheless, he remained mildly impressed as he pulled on his borrowed dressing gown, shoved Misha's wand into the pocket, and started down the hallway. Secretly, he was also thrilled that Misha trusted him enough to give him her wand. She was obviously a friend or a fool, and he hoped mightily for the former.

Sirius followed the map to the ground floor where Misha's dot seemed to be residing and opened the door without knocking. The room was large and empty, with nothing but a Muggle TV (presumably run by magic) and several unknown devices. Yet there in the center was Misha, arse on the air and wearing some sort of bizarre Muggle outfit that Sirius could only surmise was intended for exercise. "Oh," she said, flattening out her body and then turning to face Sirius, "you startled me."

Sirius just blinked in shock, trying not to think about her arse.

Misha smiled weakly. "That one was for you, I guess. It's called 'Downward facing dog.' " She burbled a squeaky little laugh and then turned beet red.

Sirius had no idea what to say. Assuming she'd entirely lost her mind, he simply nodded blankly.

"It's yoga, Sirius," chuckled Misha, noting his look of shock. "You know, strength building exercise? Bringing mind and body together?"

"Erm, yeah." How could she just walk about the house in those little bits of spandex? Sirius was so fixated on that thought that he entirely forgot to be hungry.

"Sirius? Have you been listening to a thing I've said?" Misha stood before him wearing an expression that wavered between irritation and amusement.

"Erm… upside-down dog?" he offered.

Misha snorted. "Whatever. You amuse yourself for a few minutes and I'll go take a shower before breakfast." She turned and trotted out of the room. "We have a lot to do today…" she called over her shoulder.

And Sirius was left alone in the great empty room with the Muggle television and the strange devices. We walked over to the telly and began half-heartedly pushing buttons. Nothing happened so he just wandered about inspecting the odd-looking equipment. Amongst other things there was a bicycle set in a metal frame. Sirius tapped his finger on the seat wondering what possible use such a thing could be. "It doesn't even go anywhere," he muttered under his breath.

Bored, he ambled out of the room and began to explore the rest of the house. To his untrained eye it seemed to be mostly Magic with a plethora of strange, Muggle artifacts that the Marrowstones actually seemed to use. He peaked into what had to be the conservatory or music room and noted the large grand piano, extensive musical library, and incomprehensible Muggle recording equipment. Misha's violin sat in a case on a table and posters proclaiming such things as, "Paris Opera performs _Fidelio_, David Marrowstone conducting" or "_Composition #45 in F minor_, a new work by David Marrowstone, premiers June 8th, 1992, at Royal Albert Hall."

Well, thought Sirius, to himself, the bloke really _is _famous and, yet, he believes in my innocence. Nevertheless, he wandered out into the library and spent the next few minutes poking about their extensive collection of books. There were Magical treatises and histories, Muggle novels and non-fiction, unknown tomes in myriad dead languages, and even the complete works of Shakespeare. Apparently, someone liked to read. Sprinkled in amongst these were photography books and large, colorful fashion retrospectives. Mostly, however, there were Potions books, hrbal guides, and dusty volumes on music history.

Remus had loved to read. Despite their reputation for constant sex, the two had often spent long evenings curled-up by the fire simply reading and cuddling and… No, Sirius could not stand to even think about that now, but the niggling thought still lingered in the back of his mind: love and attraction had to stem from friendship and trust. There was no other way. Remus, the one and only person he'd ever truly loved (and fully made love with) had first been a friend. So why was he having feelings for someone he'd just met? It made no sense whatsoever. To clear his mind he began to open cupboards, rifling through stacks of manuscripts and magazines and ancient, yellowing, letters.

"We don't get rid of much here, obviously," came a voice behind him. Misha. Why was that girl always sneaking about? He pulled opened a drawer of fashion show programmes and inspected them curiously. "My mother was very into the fashion world," she said. "She considered it art."

Sirius gazed at a twelve-page booklet filled with pictures of women's shoes. "And what do _you_ think?" he asked her.

Misha shrugged. "Oh, fashion is art on some level, but it's a tough world and it's not my thing, really. Music is my father's thing, but I'm not quite good enough for that, either. Politics was both their things, but I'm not quite at their level, I suppose." For a moment, she looked rather wistful.

"So what _is_ your thing?" he asked her kindly.

She gazed at him for a moment and then said, "Breakfast! And then getting you a wand. Come on, now; let's not waste time."

Forty minutes, seven pancakes, three eggs, and several cups of espresso later, Sirius was sated and ready to face the day. "So, what is this nonsense about a wand?" he questioned.

Misha took another sip of coffee and sighed. "Stay back, love," she said as she tossed a bit of Floo Powder into the fireplace. "Aberforth Dumbledore," she cried. The fire flamed green and she leaned in further. "Abe? Aberforth?" she screamed into the fire. "Where are you?"

"What?" came a quavery, disgruntled voice. "Oh, it's _you_, the little goat killer," sighed Aberforth. Despite knowing full well, that no one on the other side could actually see all the say through into the Marrowstones' kitchen, Sirius shrank back and transformed into Padfoot.

Misha frowned at the flames. "I didn't kill Major General Stanley, sir, _you_ allowed him to get worms and…"

"Well, he's still dead, is he not?" shouted the old man's head.

"Yes, yes he is - and I apologize. We'll pay you back in kids when the time comes, I promise."

"See that you do. Now what do you want?"

Misha shoved her head further into the flames and lowered her voice. "I need to speak to Fletcher. Be honest now, is he there?" she asked.

"Of course he's here," grumbled Aberforth. "Where else would he be at eleven in the morning, but here, poorly disguised as a hag and getting drunk on my Knut? Let me get him for you," he sighed, wandering away from the fireplace.

Taking advantage of the old man's absence, Sirius quickly transformed back to his human self. "What in Merlin's name is going on?" he demanded.

Misha shot him a strange look, "Okay, Sirius, you need a wand, right? Rumors are circulating that your wand is available for a price."

"What the hell? Why would anyone…" he began, but Misha cut him off.

"People are fascinated with what they perceive as criminal life. They pay small fortunes for bits of Dark memorabilia and criminal artifacts."

Sirius' face fell. So, he was reduced to the status of a freak show, now, was he?

Misha smiled sadly. "Well, I have to be honest with you here, love. I can get you a wand _like_ yours but…" she trailed off, unsure of how to complete the sentence without reminding him of a painful event.

"But they snapped my wand," Sirius finished for her. "Right in front of me, too." Honestly, it had been one of the most awful experiences of his life. It was like a death sentence for Magic, reducing him to nothing. His wand had been a virtual part of him; it was his identity, what made him a true Wizard. Or so he had thought. He was so consumed by these thoughts that he nearly forgot to transform back into Padfoot.

"Quick, Dung's coming," hissed Misha, and just as Padfoot was laying down at her feet, a bulbous nose and a pair of blood-shot eyes appeared in the fireplace.

"Whatya want, babe?" Mundungus asked with an intoxicated leer.

Padfoot let out a low growl which Misha silenced with a glare. "Hey, I have a deal for you. I found a buyer for Black's wand," she said.

Mundungus ceased leering and suddenly began to look interested. "Who?" he asked. "A real collector? Someone famous? Muggle? Magical? The Mob? He voice rose higher in pitch with each excited question.

Misha signed. "None of your damn business, actually, but I found one and I'll give you fifty percent."

Fletcher grunted his disapproval and Padfoot growled again.

"Bloody robbery," grunted Dung. "Seventy-thirty and I get to know who it is."

Misha shook her head. "Sixty-forty and I deliver. Buyer wants it kept secret for personal reasons. Now that's it or we walk."

Mundungus fell silent, thinking about the offer. "How much is he offering?"

"How do you know it's a he?" laughed Misha. "Black was considered quite handsome and lots of collectors are women." She turned and winked at Padfoot who buried his head between his forepaws. Could she really think he was handsome?

Fletcher said nothing. "How much? I won't go under one-thousand Galleons."

"One-thousand? Are you mental?" snorted Misha. "It's not even Black's real wand!"

Mundungus ran a hand through his thinning ginger hair. "Yeah it is. Absolutely genuine: twelve inches, yew, dragon heartstring with a double row of stars carved into the handle."

Misha looked at Padfoot who have a small, stunned nod. Could this really be my wand? wondered Sirius from deep within the dog.

"Whatever," said Misha. "As long as the buyer thinks it's the genuine article, we're golden. So, what do you say, six-hundred Galleons and I take my cut off the top?"

"Eight-hundred."

"Seven-hundred and I deliver."

"Deal. Now give me the money."

"Give me the wand," demanded Misha, "or do you not have it?"

Padfoot crept closer to the fireplace, teeth barred.

"You can trust me, I promise," grunted Fletcher, but before Misha could answer, Padfoot began to bark menacingly. "What in bloody hell is that thing?" asked Mundungus fearfully.

"It's what happens to you if you attempt to screw me on this, Fletcher," Misha replied, carding her fingers through Padfoot's soft fur. Instinctively, Sirius trembled at the touch and pushed himself closer to Misha, but he never ceased his angry barking.

"I have the money, right here," she continued, reaching into the pocket of her robes and producing a small bag, "Four-hundred and twenty Galleons is your share. I'll hand it through, but if I don't get that wand by owl within twenty-minutes, I swear I'll come after you with this dog and rip your bloody throat out." She held the bag up, shaking it slightly until Mundungus nodded and reached through to grab the bag.

Naturally, Sirius snapped violently at his fingers.

"Deal?" asked Misha, smirking at Mundungus' frightened yelp.

"Deal." And with a muffled pop, Mundungus Fletcher disappeared from the fireplace.

Sirius transformed back still trembling with adrenaline. A strange silence passed over the room as he contemplated the situation. Misha had seemed so confident just then. So in control. She was obviously very clever and streetwise (especially for a Hufflepuff) and, when in the right situation, all traces of awkwardness disappeared. But the real question still lingered and it took Sirius nearly five minutes to work to the courage to say it. "You… you just paid a criminal over four-hundred galleons for my wand," he said breathlessly. "Why the hell did you do that?"

Misha slipped her hand into his. "Well, I'm sorry to day this but, most likely, it's a _replica_ of your wand and I should remind you that technically _you_ are a criminal, too." She moved closer, her face inches away from his. "And, please note, Mr. Black, I'm not afraid of you, either."

Sirius untangled his fingers from hers and reached around to pull her closer. "Point taken, but that doesn't answer the _why_," he whispered. His lips were millimeters from hers now and her scent - lavender and lemon grass and something slightly spicy – was overwhelming. His stomach lurched and, for the first time in over a decade, he felt a stirring in his loins.

"Social justice?" she breathed against his mouth.

Sirius kissed her gently on the lips. "That's good enough for me," he growled, hoping fervently that there were other, more personal reasons involved as well. But none of that mattered now because she was kissing him back, her fingers threading through his long, grey-streaked hair.

"Merlin, you're gorgeous," she breathed. And suddenly he wanted to answer. To tell her that _she_ was the one that was beautiful and that he'd never seen anyone so lovely in his life. He wanted to hold her. To touch her. To…

Smack! A large, brown owl dropped a package on his head.

"Oh," huffed Misha, pulling away with an expression of what looked like reluctance. "That was fast."

She tossed the package to him and, though he caught it midair, his hands trembled as he tore open the layers of brown paper. First up was a note, short simple and to the point:

_Here's the wand. No dogs!!!_

Sirius laughed as he handed this to Misha, but his smile faded as he continued to unwrap the wand. Beneath the traditional heavy, brown mailing parchment, lay more layers of protective, tissue-thin film. These Sirius carefully unwrapped as well. And, then, there it was. A wand. His wand?

Sirius picked it up carefully, rolling it in the palm of his hand and holding it to his face for closer examination. It _felt_ like his wand. He gripped it lightly, allowing the weight to settle in his hand. Even after almost thirteen years, the weight felt familiar: heavy and laden with magic. Tentatively, he raised his arm and, with slight a flick of his wrist made small circles in the air. Gold and scarlet sparks shot out of the end of the wand, hovering in space before fading into the silence of the room.

"It works," he gasped. "It actually works!!"

"_Aguamenti!"_ A jet of cool, clear water sprayed itself all over Misha's bare feet. She jumped at the sudden cold, but laughed along with Sirius. Apparently, his joy was contagious.

"_Accio_ espresso!" His coffee cup came sailing across the room, its contents spilling as it flew.

"_Scourgify_!" The trail of coffee disappeared.

Euphoria filled him. This was real. His Magic had returned and he felt complete, strong and invulnerable and fully Wizard once again. "Misha," he began. He meant to say 'thank you,' to promise to pay her back or at least to giver her the password to his vault so she could get the gold for herself, but as soon as he opened his mouth, different words came tumbling out.

"…I love you!" he finished breathlessly.

PLEASE feel free to review. It makes me very happy,


	6. Chapter 6 Misha

**Chapter Six (Misha)**

"…I love you."

The words echoed around the silent kitchen.

When Misha was six years old she'd been in a Muggle car accident. Her Auntie Esther had been driving and Misha was in the front seat, happy and fascinated to be in a Muggle vehicle. As they crossed an intersection, a car shot out from the left having run a red light and time had slowed down to a minute crawl. Later, Misha would learn that it took all of seven seconds for the impact to occur, but a world of events took place in that thin sliver of time. "We're going to hit him, honey, hold on," Auntie Esther had said, and Misha braced herself on the dash. An eternity ticked by as her auntie hit the brakes and the car sped forward in slow motion. And that is what time felt like now: a dead stop.

Had he really just said, "I love you?" Did he mean it? From Harry and the others, Misha knew that Sirius had a tendency to be slightly reckless and to jump ahead of himself. He escaped from Azkaban, did he not? And then defied logic by returning to Scotland to hide in a cave and watch over Harry. According to Hermione, Sirius had invited Harry to live with him just hours after they'd just met for the first time in twelve years. And Merlin knows, he was easily attached. But did he actually mean it? Or, rather, did he mean it _that_ way?

Misha frantically searched for the proper reply. Thank you? Silence? Subject chance? The last thing she wanted to do was to say it back if she didn't really feel that way. Or worse yet, if Sirius were only teasing - but he certainly didn't look like he was teasing. Sirius stood before her trembling slightly, those fathomless grey eyes bright with emotion. Oh, Merlin, she thought, he _meant_ it – at least on some level.

Then, suddenly, she had a plan: ambiguity. "I love you, too, Sirius," she said sweetly, planting a small kiss on the corner of his mouth. Sirius relaxed, but his eyes held a small trace of sadness. "Now, let's go have a tour of the grounds and practice your Magic," soothed Misha.

Sirius laughed, obviously relieved at the subject change. "In my dressing gown? Really?"

Oh, sweet Circe's arse. "Erm, probably not the best idea, first we'll find Winter and see what she's accomplished. And, failing that, we'll transfigure some of my father's old clothes and make the best of it. We can't have you wandering about in those filthy prison robes. Wouldn't be very subtle, would it?"

Sirius nodded in agreement and Misha wondered just how many Shrinking Charms would be required to get a pair of her father's old trousers to fit Sirius. The poor bloke was nearly emaciated and David Marrowstone was, well, slightly on the plump side to say the least. Luckily, however, the house-elf came through and provided Sirius with a form-fitting, red t-shirt and a pair of dark, Muggle jeans which hung-loosely from his narrow hips. Misha had to admit he looked sexy.

"Erm, is this shirt really meant to look this way?" Sirius asked, inspecting himself uncertainly in the mirror. The fabric clung to every inch of his almost-sunken chest and his denims dipped dangerously low, giving Misha an ample view of lovely hollow if his hip. It was almost obscene, really.

"Oh, yes, absolutely," cried Winter. She looked pointedly at Misha. "_You_ have the perfect body for it, sir. You're handsome and thin. You'd have made a fine model in your day, and Misha would do well to take a page from your book."

Sirius' eyes widened in shock and Misha cringed. "That's enough, Winter," she hissed. "Leave him alone."

But Sirius let out a great barking laugh and pulled the surprised elf into a hearty hug. "Misha is gorgeous just the way she is, Winter, and I'm quite sure that the Azkaban Diet Plan will never be popular. The weight loss aspect might be effective, but the bit about losing your mind is a rather large downside."

"Well," huffed the prissy house-elf, extracting herself from Sirius' arms, "Winter knows very little about prisons, sir, but she _does_ know fashion and she'll have more clothing for you by the end of the day."

"Thank you, Winter," replied Sirius solemnly.

"Is there anything else, Winter can be doing for you?" asked the elf.

Sirius' lips quirked into a smile. "Well, perhaps you can leave Misha alone about her weight."

"Harrumph," spat the elf as she curtseyed and left the room.

"It's the price one pays for having freed one's house-elves," observed Misha, futilely attempting to hide her blush.

"So why did you?" asked Sirius as they made their way out to the gardens. "Free your house-elves, I mean."

It was a gorgeous day, sunny, crisp and cool, and Misha decided to give Sirius a full tour. It also afforded them a chance to visit Buckbeak, so they first headed for the stables. Along the way, Misha continued her story. "Well, my father feels strongly that keeping house-elves is a form of slavery. My mother's side, of course, was accustomed to the practice, but my paternal grandparents, though fairly well-off, never did, so you can imagine my father's consternation when my Grandmother Lufkin died and left us a small fleet of house-elves. I was eight years old and we'd just returned from living in Boston for three years whilst he was working with the Symphony. Scotland felt new and different and all of a sudden we found ourselves with a farm and dozens upon dozens of house-elves. I thought my father would die."

"So what did you do?" asked Sirius whilst bowing to Buckbeak. With a happy wave of his wand he refilled the water trough and Summoned a bucket of rats. Smiling to himself, he began carelessly tossing them to the hippogriff. Misha soon joined him.

"Much to my mother's dismay, he freed them all," she continued, reaching for another rodent. "Of course they refused to leave, so he tried to hire them, but then they refused payment. Eventually, we trained them to raise herbs and help make potions and, well… here we are today."

Buckbeak swallowed his last rat and let out a great, satisfied belch, so Sirius and Misha led him outside to the sunshine. "He'll be safe here and we can let him roam for a bit," said Misha.

But Sirius, apparently, was still caught-up in the story of the house-elves. "So, do you pay them now?" he asked.

Misha paused. This was the question she'd been specifically dreading. "Well… sort-of…" she began hesitantly.

"How do you _sort-of_ pay them?" laughed Sirius.

"Okay, look," whispered Misha, "you told me your secrets and now I'll tell you mine. We grow a lot of things here at Marrowstone Farm and, as you know, some of it is not quite legal. Most of it is for sick Muggles, but the elves, shall we say, have created their own economy."

"Huh?"

"House-elves will not accept pay, but they are still willing to make money. We give them twenty-percent of what they grow and they… erm… sell it for street value."

"YOUR HOUSE ELVES ARE DRUG DEALERS?' cried Sirius sounding vaguely alarmed.

"Shhhh, and no they are NOT drug dealers. They just sell it to make some money. Where do you think people around here would get it, otherwise."

"Does Dumbledore know about this?" asked Sirius.

Misha laughed. "Where do you think he gets _his_? Grows it himself? No, we're the gardeners and he's the Headmaster."

"I want to see where you grow things," Sirius cried. In the sunshine, the hair looked lighter, the streaks of grey more obvious, but his eyes shone wildly.

"Don't give me the puppy-dog look," Misha mock-scolded, "you'll get what you want in due time." And with that they set off for the greenhouses, hand in hand.

The pair spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the forest, meadows, and the gardens. Misha showed him the acres of flowers and herbs used for potions and aromatherapy, a great, blooming riot of color that scented the air for miles. She took him to the greenhouses where the rarer plants grew and Sirius watched as a small cadre of house-elves lovingly tended to their tasks.

"Why and, more to the point, _what_ are they singing," Sirius asked, inclining his head toward what appeared to be a group of happy workers.

Misha cringed. "My father thought it would be amusing to each them the working songs of 19th-Century African Slaves. He thought it made a political statement."

"Hmmm," muttered Sirius, "they seem to enjoy it at any rate."

Finally, she took him to a small glad in the forest. "This is where we grow the ingredients for the Wolfsbane potion," she said brightly, pointing to a variety of plants growing on the forest floor.

Sirius looked at her in shock. "You brew Wolfsbane?" he asked curiously. Obviously, he was thinking of Remus, but Misha didn't quite want to think about that now.

"My mother taught me," she said softly. "While she hardly invented the process, she did come up with some rather unique ways of growing the ingredients. The idea was that werewolves could do it themselves in a small space," She pointed to the purple-flowered Aconite. "See how it grows closely with the Asphodel and Belladonna? They occur together naturally, each providing nutrients to the soil that helps sustain the other plants. They work together in a kind of a system. "

Sirius looked down at the bright green foliage, gently running is finger along the thin stems of a Fluxweed. "Is that why they work together in a potion, then?" he asked.

"Exactly," Misha replied. "Sometimes the werewolves for whom we brew come out and help us with the gathering. It helps increase the power of the Potion."

She paused and looked Sirius straight in the eye. "Remus is usually part of that," she added. "We're past the gathering now, but the full moon is approaching." The late afternoon sun caught the grey in Sirius' hair as he fell silent.

"I became an Animagus to help keep him company during full moons," Sirius whispered, as if in answer. He gazed off into the middle distance, lost in thought.

"And you're welcome to do so again, when he comes over to transform," Misha said softly and Sirius leaned in to kiss her gently on the lips.

"I'd like that very much," he whispered. For a brief moment, his entire face lit up, happiness coursing through his body. He reminded Misha of a young puppy wagging his tail.

And then it struck her: Sirius needed to be needed. Like his dog form, it was his instinct to protect and aid - to be part of a pack. And his predilection toward jumping into things somewhat recklessly was motivated entirely by that need. It was quite endearing, really. She kissed him more deeply before pulling away and looking into his eyes. "You're amazing, Sirius Black," she said before she could change her mind.

He began to kiss her back, tongue thrusting hungrily into her mouth and Misha fought all temptation to simply give in to the moment. But a still, small voice in the back of her head warned her that the time was not yet right. Reluctantly, she pulled back and took him by the hand. "Let's go in," she said.

The sun was low on the horizon as they put Buckbeak back in the stables and, by the time they'd accomplished a few end-of-the-day chores, it was almost dark and well-past time for dinner. Sirius claimed to be amazed that Misha knew how to cook, but she knew better. He was only giving her compliments to make her feel ease. Nevertheless, she did enjoy cooking and was relishing the chance to prepare the types of dishes that would help him put on weight and muscle. Real butter, thick cream, rich sauces… it was like a dream come true.

But after a large platter of fettuccini carbonara, a bottle of wine, and a little bit of herb, she was feeling far more relaxed and, when Sirius suddenly grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close, she had no resistance left. They were standing in the middle of the kitchen, but Misha soon lost all sense of place and time. Sirius kissed her deeply. His breath was hot as he nuzzled her neck, taking small, nipping bites at the tender flesh – and she had never wanted anyone this badly.

"Would you like dessert?" she asked weakly, as his hands skimmed lightly over the front of her t-shirt.

"I'm having it," he huffed as he licked her ear.

She dragged him into the lounge, barely making it to the sofa before he collapsed on top of her. His hands found the hem of her t-shirt and he pulled it up over her head, moaning slightly at the sight of her red, satin bra. Misha tried to remove his t-shirt, too, but he gently pinned her hands above her head and began licking her throat. Moving lower, he grazed his tongue across the top of her breasts before sucking fervently on a hardening nipple through the fabric of her bra. "You're so beautiful," he whispered.

"No, Sirius, _you're_ beautiful." The words were out before she could stop herself and she quickly twisted around and pushed him down to the sofa. Frankly, she'd never been this aggressive with a male, but Sirius was different. Special. And this breed of lust (and love?) was almost feral. Heedless of what he might think of her, she quickly divested him of his t-shirt and proceeded to kiss the delicate hollow of his throat. His skin tasted of salt and excitement and he trembled as she traced the outline of each tattoo with her tongue. Merlin, but he was gorgeous. Her hands trailed down to his flat belly and she paused before allowing herself to wander further. Rubbing gentle circles across the heavy fabric of his denims, Misha smiled. Sirius was growing hard, making little whining noises as she fondled him beneath his clothes. "Tell me what you want, Sirius," she whispered.

"I want to see you - all of you." His eyes were dark lust as he fumbled across her back for the clasp of her bra. After a moment, he looked both desperate and frustrated, so she gently guided his hands to the front and helped him loosen the clasp. "Mmmmmm," he moaned as her breasts fell forward. He brushed the aching peaks with the calloused pads of his thumbs and Misha could not help but whimper. Instinctively, she arched her back, allowing him greater access to her breasts. He licked at her nipples, wetting them before taking one into his mouth as his fingers played gently with the other.

Misha was in heaven. Her fingers fumbled at the buckle of his belt and the fly of his jeans before wriggling out of her own. He was hard. He wanted her. For a glorious moment, that was all that mattered. Still, the angle was difficult and she was not having much success freeing him from the prison of his clothing. Finally, she resorted to sitting fully upright to get a better angle.

"Ummmmf," he grunted as she pulled her breasts away from his eager lips. He opened his mouth in disappointed protest, but was so startled by her hand on his bare cock that he could only gasp in pleasure.

"Not wearing pants, I see," Misha chuckled.

"Apparently Winter never got that detailed," panted Sirius.

Separated only by the thin, silky fabric of her knickers, the heat between them increased. Sirius bucked frantically under the ministrations of her hand, his long, deft fingers trailing over her bare skin in exploration. Gods, she was excited. Misha pressed her lips to his, kissing deeply and with desperation and he returned the kiss with equal fervor.

And then, suddenly, with a burst of sticky wetness, it was over. Sirius had come in her hand. His flush faded and he looked-up at her, crushed and dejected. "I'm so sorry," he began, "I… I haven't in…"

Misha looked him straight in the eye. "There nothing to be sorry for, Sirius. NOTHING." And there wasn't.

"But I…"

"But you had your first orgasm, in over a decade," she finished for him. "_That's_ a huge turn-on for me. It's all I need."

"Yes, but…"

"And it means your getting better. Stronger."

Sirius looked slightly more at ease. "Why are you so good to me?" he asked softly.

Misha smiled down to him longing to say the truth: Because I think I'm falling on love with you. But somehow the words refused to come. "Because you deserve it," she said instead.

"Oh," said Sirius, still looking a little sorrowful.

"But…"

"But?"

"But no matter how recovered you might feel, I still don't think you should try sleeping alone. Are you coming to bed with me or not?"

And Misha was rewarded with a genuine smile.


	7. Chapter 7 Sirius

**Chapter Seven (Sirius)**

Sirius spent the next several days bouncing back and forth between elation and shame. On the one hand, he was re-discovering his sexuality and finally feeling alive and rejuvenated. Perhaps more importantly, he was with (if one could truly call it "with") someone who was beautiful and kind and intelligent and seemed to return his feelings. But on the other hand? On the other hand, he felt he'd made a total arse of himself on the first sexual attempt and Misha had yet to really say those four little words he so longed to hear: I love you, too, Sirius. Well, actually that was five words, but his name was irrelevant.

Still, life was improving. Armed with his wand, Sirius was able to regain his magic and he felt more complete and alive than he had in years. He spent hours practicing, spelling anything and everything that crossed his path. Granted, Buckbeak was less than thrilled about being Charmed a variety of colors, but he still cooed happily, when Misha scratched his beak and told him that "the violet feathers suited him." And that made Sirius happy, too. To fit in, to be amusing, to gain attention for something other than being "a convict and a murderer," these were things he craved.

Often Misha would be gone during the days, teaching long hours at Hogwarts or rehearsing with her string quartet, PhoenixFire. The former was an added benefit for it allowed Sirius to exchange notes and messages with Harry. In the mornings, Misha would slip the boy letters whilst passing him in the hallways and, by the time the final class had ended, Harry would have composed a long reply. He told Sirius about his qualms with the Triwizard Tournament and how rumors were spreading that someone was trying to kill him. Sirius was beside himself with worry, but felt slightly more at ease knowing that, not only was he close by, but that Misha was there, too. And she'd promised to take him (as Padfoot, of course) to the final Task, which reassured him greatly. Nothing would happen to Harry if he were close at hand! Simply knowing that he was making a difference gave Sirius great comfort during the long days spent by himself.

Yet Misha was always around to pay attention to him during the early mornings and evenings and they spend every moment of her days off together. Hand in hand, the two would wander about the farm and forest, exploring caves and hiking through brush-covered paths. He even helped her clean the stables and pick herbs for her potions, feeling relieved at the thought of being helpful.

Still, Misha was confusing. She was so beautiful, yet she seemed to neither notice nor care and this was something hitherto unknown in a female. Pretty girls were supposed to be beauty-conscious and vain, were they not? But Misha was decidedly not. It wasn't that she quite lacked self-confidence, but true vanity was not part of her make-up. Despite what her mother had obviously pushed on her to be (and, oh how Sirius could relate to that) she seemed to care more about causes than cosmetics and more about animals and books than social events. Oddly, she reminded him a little of Remus (except to the male part and the werewolf part), for she had the same sort-of sensibility and the same sort of quirky sense of humor.

One day, when he was killing time in the library idly flipping through a book on many uses of Doxie entrails, Sirius heard a strange noise. An odd, tinny music - some corrupted version of Beethoven's "Für Elise" - seemed to be emanating from the depths of the large, leather wingback chair near the fireplace. "What the hell?" he muttered as he bounded across the room to investigate.

The music grew louder as Sirius drew closer and he nearly hesitated before shoving his hand beneath the cushions. "Merlin knows what could be hiding in such ancient furniture," he thought to himself, but then quickly realized that this particular chair _had_ to be safe. In fact, just last night he'd been sitting in it when Misha had passed by. He'd grabbed her, pulled her onto lap, kissed her deeply, and… Wait. Now was not the time to think about _that_; the music was still playing and it was driving him insane. Bravely, he reached into the depths of the chair and hoped for the best.

The first thing he found was the desiccated remains of an old Honeydukes candy bar, but considering the music was not stopping, that could hardly be the source. Tossing aside the stale treat, he rooted around in the chair until his fingers encountered something smooth and cool: a comb. A musical comb? No, that couldn't be it. Two cough drops, seven sickles, and one enormous dust-bunny later, Sirius found the source of the noise: that strange black, plastic object that Misha called a Muggle mobile. It must have fallen from her pocket last night when they were kissing. Sirius freed the phone from its prison and looked at it curiously.

It was strange magic, to say the least. He'd never seen Misha use it, but knew instinctively that it had something to do with the little red and green buttons in the middle. Hesitantly, he tried the red one. Nothing. Still curious, he poked at the green button.

"Hello! Hello?" cried the device in a tiny, irritated voice.

Sirius shrugged and put the phone up to his ear as he imagined he was meant to. "Hello?" he offered brightly.

"Misha?" said the phone.

"No," replied Sirius, "obviously not."

"Who the hell is this?"

The device was apparently becoming irate, making Sirius wonder if he should have poked it sooner. Still, it seemed rather brazen for such a tiny, helpless-looking little thing, so Sirius was not the least intimidated. "Who the hell is _this_?" he asked it.

A small silence followed by a great huff of annoyance greeted his ears. "This is Chet, where the fuck is Misha and who in bloody hell are you?" the phone replied angrily.

Misha's phone was named after her ex-boyfriend? Or her ex-boyfriend was a small, rectangular brick of black plastic? That made no sense whatsoever. And then it hit him, this _was_ a communication device after all, not some sort-of quasi-sentient magical object. Misha's ex-boyfriend was _on_ the phone! Shit. But why was Misha's ex-boyfriend trying to call her? Sirius did not like the sound of this at all.

"HELLO!!" bellowed phone-Chet, "ARE YOU THERE?"

"Erm, sorry," Sirius replied, attempting to sound as cold as possible, "She's not in."

"Well, you'll give her a message, yeah? Tell her I'll be in London tomorrow and I'm on my way to Glasgow and I'd like to see her. Oh, and tell her that I got the Calvin Klein underwear campaign, too."

Sirius could find no words to express his horror. He had no idea who this Calvin Klein person was, but strongly suspected that it was in very poor taste to discuss one's underwear with the person with whom one's ex-girlfriend was sleeping. Not that Chet-the-mobile would have any idea of that. "Yes, thank you," he grunted into the plastic brick before chucking it at the wall.

By the time Misha returned home, Sirius had managed to spell the mobile back into what he hoped was working order. He'd also resolved to not tell her about the phone call, reasoning that, if she never knew Chet called, she would never meet him on his way to Gasgow. Sirius was well aware that this was neither the wisest nor the most mature response, but he found he was so anxious at the prospect of losing Misha, that he simply didn't care.

Still, he could not resist inquiring about Chet.

"So, what is your ex-boyfriend up to these days?" he asked, attempting to sound casual.

Misha frowned and turned her attention to the sauce she was stirring. "I have no idea," she said simply. "Last I'd heard he'd won some job with a Calvin Klein campaign – or so Winter informs me." She paused and looked directly into Sirius' eyes with a sad little smile. "Why?"

"Erm, I don't know. I just… I just want to know more about you and your life?" Shit, why had he phrased that as a bloody question? Luckily, Misha seemed not to notice. Instead, she dropped her spoon into the pot and threw her arms around him.

"Why? Are you jealous?"

"No," he growled, pulling away. Truthfully, he was. At least a little bit. After all, Chet was a model and ostensibly gorgeous. Sirius had even see a picture.

Misha sighed. "Love, I assure you, that Chet is exactly the opposite of you in nearly every way. You've nothing to worry about."

"Opposite as in what?" snapped Sirius. "Young? Handsome?"

"Vain, selfish, cowardly, and untrustworthy, more like." Misha gripped him hard by the shoulder, pulling back to study his face. "You _are_ handsome, Sirius, and did I ever tell you why I finally broke up with him?"

"No," he muttered, cringing inwardly at his sullen tone.

If Misha noticed, she ignored it. "One day, Chet and I were walking through Hyde Park and stopped to watch a group of teenaged boys playing soccer. One of them attempted to kick a goal, but missed the mark and the ball headed straight for us. Chet pushed me in front of him and the ball smacked me straight in the face, breaking my nose."

"What a bastard!" cried Sirius. "I'd never…"

"Of course not. But, oh, it gets worse. The boys came running over to apologize and one of them – who had apparently noticed Chet's move – confronted him on it. And do you know what he said?"

Sirius shook his head. He wasn't sure that he really wanted to know, but Misha seemed so bemused that it couldn't be too bad.

"He told them that his face was his fortune and mine was hardly marketable, so he made the only logical move. The boys, of course, were appalled and sporting for a fight and… well, lets just say it did not end well." She paused, looking thoughtful before adding, "Well, maybe it _did_ because I realized what a prick he was and then I met you!" She leaned up and kissed him gently on the mouth.

"This is it," he though, "She's going to say, 'I love you.' " But Misha only smiled and turned back to her marinara sauce.

They were drinking their late Saturday afternoon tea when Misha's phone let out a garbled crow.

"What the hell?" she muttered, scowling at her mobile. She shook it gently as it crowed again then raised an eyebrow at Sirius.

"I've no idea," he mumbled, unable to meet her eye.

Cowing aside, she managed to answer the phone.

"Hello?"

A garbled voice issued from the phone, but, try as he might, Sirius could not make out the words.

"Yes, of course this is me… Chet? What the hell?... You're _where_? Why?...Who?... When?... " She turned and glared at Sirius, eyes wide with fear and annoyance. "Oh, that was… my, my… cousin Nigel… No… Yes… No… Why? Well, of course you're lost and can't find the house… Yes, I suppose I'll come meet you… Stay there." And with a sigh she hung-up the phone and rounded on Sirius.

"WHAT THE FUCK, BLACK? What the hell did you think you think you were doing messing about with my mobile and talking to my friends? And you couldn't have been honest and told me he called? Who do you think you are?" She was inches from his face, seething with anger.

Friends? Sirius was so taken aback by this, he almost forgot to respond, but merely stammered out a convoluted apology.

"Whatever," spat Misha, quickly brushing out her ponytail. She awarded him another death-glare and hissed, "Padfoot! Now! You're coming with me, asshole."

And Sirius had no choice but to transform.

Ten minutes later they were making their way down the dusty lane in front of her house. Just ahead, at a slight bend in the road, sat a sleek silver car (Misha would later call it a Jaguar) with a tall, blond man in a black leather jacket leaning casually on the boot.

"Misha, darling," he called, leaping from the car and pulling her into a fierce hug. "How are you? You look fabulous!"

Padfoot could not fight the low growl that rose in his throat.

"Thanks. You, too," Misha said coldly, before glancing down warningly at Padfoot. "Did you want to come in for tea?"

"If I can ever find your damned house. I could never for the life of me figure out why anyone would want to live way the hell out in the country like this, " laughed Chet, but Misha just shook her head and wandlessly lifted the wards.

"It's right in front of you, silly, now come along." And the pair set off for the house, Padfoot trailing menacingly at their heels.

"Nice, mutt," sneered Chet, "One of your many pathetic rescues, I suppose?"

Misha seemed to ignore the tone of that last remark. "His name is Paddy Dignam," she replied. Padfoot looked up at her questioningly and Chet simply looked blank. "As in James Joyce, you cretin," snorted Misha, though neither Chet nor Padfoot were certain as to whom this comment was directed.

By the time they settled down to tea, Chet was smiling charmingly and Padfoot was wary and furious. Unlike their tea time with Harry and his friends, this one was simple and far less lavish. In fact, Misha didn't even bother with biscuits.

"Still not eating sugar, I suppose," she sighed, dumping several spoonfuls into her own tea.

"Nor carbs. It's done wonders for me," replied Chet.

Under the table, Padfoot rolled his eyes. "How much longer can this stilted conversation go on," he wondered. Unfortunately, the answer turned out to be a very, very _very_ long time. In fact, much to Sirius' dismay Chet stayed through dinner and well into the evening, talking endlessly of his jobs and his cheekbones and people of whom Sirius had never heard. For her part, Misha did not seem all that interested, but she remained unfailingly polite. Meanwhile, Sirius was growing exhausted and hungry. As a dog, of course, he got no dinner – or at least no people food. Chet and Misha got roast beef and a spring salad and Padfoot got dog food, a dubious looking plate of slop he merely sniffed at delicately before ignoring. And when he tried to whine for treats, Misha merely shook her head and have him a small pat on the head.

"Pretty demanding mutt," Chet said sarcastically.

Misha rolled her eyes at him and scratched Padfoot behind the ears, "Yes, but he's a good boy. Aren't you, boy?"

Chet said nothing but merely looked at Padfoot with distaste. It was obvious, even to Sirius that Chet hated dogs. Ignoring Padfoot completely, Chet reached across the table and took Misha's hand. "So, Misha, Louis Mariette is giving a cocktail party next Friday night and anyone who is anyone is going to attend. I was wondering if you'd like to come?"

Misha simply blinked in shock, but Padfoot began to growl. "Hush, Paddy," she admonished.

"So? Are you up for it?" Chet continued.

"No, I don't think so…" Misha began slowly. She withdrew her hand and stood and crossed the room. "Chet, I have to honest with you. I told you when we broke-up that we would never work out and I still feel that way. _Strongly_. We're just too different and I won't stand to be…"

"In other words, you're seeing someone else?" interrupted Chet. He, too, stood, and stalked over to face off with Misha. "It's that idiotic prat I talked to on the phone, isn't it? Your so-called 'Cousin Nigel?' He sounded a bit old for you, don't you think?"

"It's none of your business, Chet," hissed Misha, slipping gracefully out of his grasp.

But Chet would not relent. He grabbed her by the wrist and regarded her with narrowed eyes. "You know, Mish, you and your petty little secrets are pretty fucking strange. You rarely leave your damned house, you date mysterious older men with no social skills, you hang around with animals, and you teach at some freakish school for mutant children! In fact, everything about you is pretty damned strange In fact, sometimes I think that you…"

"WOOOF!" Padfoot was between them like a shot, barring his teeth and pushing Chet down to the ground.

"PADFOOT, NO!!!" screamed Misha, and Sirius backed off. But Chet was already scrambling away and heading for the door.

"You're dog's a freak, too!" he yelled as he stormed out of the house.

A small silence descended as the thud of the slamming door slowly faded from the room. Padfoot shivered unconsciously and slunk toward Misha who was now huddled on the floor sobbing. He nuzzled her chin for a moment and then raised his snout to lick her face, but she just pushed him away and buried her face in the soft fur of his neck. Padfoot whined, wanting desperately to transform back into human form and somehow comfort her, but she clung on tightly and cried. Finally, after several uncomfortable minutes of tears, Sirius regained human form and hugged Misha gently. "You're not a freak, Misha and… and… I really do love you."

But Misha just gave a muffled squeak and, pushing him away, fled up the stairs to her room and slammed the door. For a moment Sirius just stood there fighting the myriad feelings that raged through him. Anger, worry, heartbreak, and fear vied for top spot as he debated his next move. Finally, he trudged slowly up the stairs and knocked gently on the door to her bedroom. No response. He tried the knob. Locked. In despair he returned to his dog form and curled-up against the door and went to sleep.

Reviews are encouraged and, don't worry, it gets better in the next chapters.


	8. Chapter 8 Misha

**Chapter Eight (Misha)**

Misha slammed her bedroom door so hard that a painting (a botanical study of a _Papaver somniferum_) popped of the wall, knocking an antique clock off the mantel. "Well, fuck," she muttered through her tears. With a wave of her wand, she righted the picture and repaired the broken fame. The clock, however, she reached for herself, hefting the weight of the deep, green marble in her hand before replacing it on the mantel. "It's 8:43PM," the clock informed her helpfully.

"Thanks," sniffled Misha.

"And if you don't mind my saying so, he was only trying to protect himself. Afraid he'd loose you to a younger man, I'm sure."

Misha just glared at meddlesome timepiece and continued to cry. "It was a breach of trust!" she insisted, but the clock only ticked patronizingly and then gave a small chime. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" snapped Misha.

"It means it's a quarter till the hour," replied the clock smugly.

But Misha was not satisfied. She felt hurt, she felt angry, and she felt betrayed. Sirius claimed he loved her, but then he turned around and behaved like an utter prat. Why the hell didn't he just tell her Chet had called and allow her to deflect the visit politely? Merlin, she was furious. He'd acted like a child - like an immature, screwed-up little shit. And Chet was just was bad. Worse, actually, now that she thought about it. _He_ was the one that called her a freak. _He_ was the one from whom she had to hide. But then, again, none of this would have happened were it not for Sirius' deception.

Since leaving Hogwarts, Misha had mostly dated Muggles. Immersing herself in her mother's world of celebrity and fashion and her father's world of music and politics, she'd managed to pretty much avoid large chunks of Wizarding society altogether. Frankly, many Wizards her drove her mental with their petty squabbles and stubborn adherence to foolish beliefs. Pureblood, Half-Blood, Muggle-born. What the hell did it matter? Once more, many magical folk had no clue about Muggle society, considering almost everything non-Wizard related to be patently inferior. There was such great beauty in the Muggle world, too. There was Mahler and Bach and Beethoven. There was Chagall and Picasso. There was Annie Leibovitz, James Joyce, Pablo Neruda, and the 1953 Porsche Roadster in candy-apple red. The Muggle world was full of adventure and fantastic things to discover.

Yet they would never fully accept her. She still lived in fear that someday, someone - the _wrong_ person - would fully discover her secret and out her for the freak she was. Misha dreaded that day, but she knew it was coming. Someday, her Memory Modification Charms would fail – or she'd make a mistake – and then it would be all over. No, what Misha needed was a good Wizard who accepted the Muggle world. Who loved Muggle things like Pink Floyd and motorbikes and a good curry and… Shit. That would be Sirius, wouldn't it?

Misha burst into a fresh round of exhausted tears.

By 9:15 PM Misha was done crying.

By 9:22PM she was feeling deeply regretful about the way she'd treated him.

By 9:31PM she was ready to come out and apologize.

Unfortunately, by 9:32PM she was fast asleep.

Misha dreamed of millions of sea gulls diving upon a small, blue fishing boat on a cloudy day. She dreamed of waking-up and finding Sirius gone. She dreamed that her left-eye had suddenly turned a vibrant, green and that Winter was the only one who noticed. She dreamed of running through the forest, looking for Sirius only to find his battered, broken body at the foot of a small cliff. And she dreamed about eating banana-cream pie.

When she awoke she was uneasy and dehydrated. She missed having Sirius by her side, for they fit together so nicely, warm and snug. In his arms, she felt safe and, even better, she knew that he did, too. But where was he? Had be gone back to his own room? Worse, could he have left the house?

Silently, Misha crept across the room and opened her bedroom door. She glanced worriedly up and down the hallway. Nothing. All was dark and silent. Deciding that he must be in his own bedroom, Misha stepped into the hallway and the world fell into chaos. First, there was the slide of warm fur beneath her bare toes, followed by a sharp, yelp of canine pain. Next, she was tumbling forward, her fall broken by an abrupt encounter between her forehead and the railing at the top of the stairs. And then the world went black.

Suddenly Sirius was hovering over her, wide-eyed and terrified, his wand clutched tightly in his right hand. He swam before her eyes, breaking into multiple Sirius' before reforming into one. Misha blinked in confusion at the sudden pain that rose from the rising bump on her forehead. "I had to _Rennervate_ you," Sirius said by way of greeting.

Feeling as if she were about to pass out again, Misha said nothing, but merely whimpered in pain. Sirius leaned forward and kissed her lightly on top of the head. "_Episky_," he whispered. And the pain was gone.

"Oh, Sirius, I'm… I'm so sorry," Misha stammered, but Sirius merely smiled.

"I'm sorry, too," he replied. "I never meant to interfere and I shouldn't have been so jealous but…"

She silenced him with a kiss. "Shhh, love, you did nothing wrong," she murmured into his mouth. And it was true. She meant it. Her head was still spinning, but her resolve remained undimmed. Forcing herself to stand, she pulled Sirius to his feet. "Let's go to bed," she said softly.

Sirius followed willingly and wordlessly, seeming almost surprised at her insistent kisses. Their bodies melted together as they collapsed on the bed. "Misha, I never meant to hurt you. Can I make it up to you? Can I…"

"Shhh… Don't talk, love. Don't think. Just be."

And, for a moment, the world was reduced to nothing but Sirius Black, the sweet, spicy odor of his skin, and the velvety fierceness of his kisses. She flipped him on his back, trailing a line of small, soft kisses across his jawbone and sucking gently on the delicate hollow of his throat. He moaned and wriggled beneath her as she dragged her tongue across his thin chest, tracing the outline of his largest tattoo before nibbling on a nipple. Sirius bucked and whined, but Misha continued her exploration of his body, circling his belly button with her tongue before pulling down his cotton briefs and taking his hardness into her mouth. Truth be told, Misha usually felt quite uncomfortable doing these sorts of things, but Sirius' groans of ecstasy were driving her wild. This was bliss. He arched his back off the bed, bucking frantically into her mouth, but Misha continued her ministrations undaunted. Seventy seconds later he came.

After, she lay atop him for a moment, breathing deeply as he panted beneath her. Sirius looked at her questioningly. "Can I…" he began.

"No, need love," she responded, kissing him softly on the lips. She gazed at him in the half-light of the darkened bedroom. Damn, but he was beautiful, dark hair fanning out onto the white linen pillowcase, cheeks flushed with pleasure, grey eyes shining in the darkness. Misha knew she was falling and she was falling hard. She opened her mouth to tell him, but he was already speaking.

"Damn," he laughed. "If that's your way of dealing with it, I should piss you off more often."

The moment lost, she simply giggled and tapped him playfully on the nose with the tip of her index finger. "Don't push your luck, mate," she said playfully. "Even _I_ have my limits."

"James used to say that."

The temperature of the room seemed to drop several degrees with that comment and Misha snuggled closer only to see a mournful, far-away look in Sirius' eyes. "Oh, love," she whispered, planning a small kiss on his cheek.

But Sirius kept talking. "James was always so patient with me. He was my best friend. He trusted me and then…" To her horror, Sirius began to sob. "And do you know the worst part?" he asked her.

Not sure she really wanted to hear the answer, she nodded dumbly.

"He never knew! He never knew that I didn't mean to betray him! He died thinking that I wasn't loyal!"

"_Oh, what utter bullshit, Padfoot!" _ cried a deep, male voice in the back of Misha's head.

Sirius sat up, pushing her off him and gazing at her in horror. "Excuse me?" he spat. "What the hell did you just say to me?"

"I said nothing," answered Misha truthfully.

"_Oh, for Merlin's sake, Pads, pull your head out of your arse and stop whining,"_ came the voice.

"What the fuck _is_ this nonsense?" Misha asked herself.

Sirius glared at her. Misha leapt off the bed and straightened the wrinkled Muggle sundress she'd been wearing all day. She looked frantically around the room for the source of the voice, but found nothing.

"_Come off it, you're my best friend and my brother in all-but-blood, but you always __were__ a bit obtuse and self-centered."_

Misha shivered. "Did you just hear that?" she asked tentatively.

"Of course, I heard it, girl. You said it," growled Sirius.

"What? No I didn't?" Misha was quite taken aback at the accusation. Obviously, she had not said it. She was fully aware of what did and did not come out of her mouth.

"Actually, my dear, you did," interrupted the mantel clock, "though if I might proffer an opinion, I would suggest that maybe…"

"SHUT UP!!!" roared Misha and Sirius simultaneously.

Undaunted, the clock continued, "Considering the identity of Misha's great-great-great aunt, have either of you considered that, perhaps, it might be James trying to contact you?"

"_Well, of course, it is James,"_ came the voice. _"Lily says that I should apologize to Misha for the unintentional use of her body. Sorry, Misha. I swear your Aunt Cassandra told me it was perfectly acceptable and you wouldn't mind a bit."_

Misha looked warily at Sirius who gazed at her in shock. She assumed he was thinking the exact same thing.

The voice laughed as if reading their thoughts. "_Don't worry Pads. THAT wasn't me. Merlin knows I wouldn't have put that thing in my mouth dead or alive or…"_

"Erm, yeah…" broke in Misha, greatly relieved that the undead James Potter – if that's who he really was – had not shared in their lovemaking experience. "But, it should be noted for the record that I am not, in any way shape of form, psychic. I mean, despite being distantly related to Cassandra Trelawney, I don't have an 'inner eye' and am quite unaccustomed to people just invading my body without provocation." She wasn't angry, exactly, just a bit taken aback by the proceedings.

"_Yeah, Lily said you'd be upset, but your relatives assured me that, since this was for a good cause, you'd be happy to be a conduit."_

A conduit? Happy? Was she? Misha had no response.

But Sirius was much more savvy. "How do I know this is really James Potter?" he asked, eyes narrowed. He glanced uneasily at Misha as if she might, without warning, turn into the image of his deceased friend.

Again the voice laughed. _"You have a small scar on the inside of your left heel from the time you cut yourself running barefoot through the secret passageway behind the statue of the Hump-backed Witch. Remember that? You and Remus were doing Merlin-knows what in an abandoned broom closet when Filch caught you and you took off running and…"_

Sirius lips twitched into a sort of wistful, nostalgic smile that Misha had never seen. "Yeah, I wedged my foot on the base of the statue whilst pushing Remus to safety, our shoes were still back in the closet with…

"_Circe's tits, don't even remind me of the first time I caught you two in a broom closet. Remember the big one on the second floor where…"_

A barking laugh echoed through Misha's bedroom. "Oh, bloody hell, the look on your face was priceless and…"

"EXCUSE ME!!" burst in Misha. She didn't want to be rude, but this was getting a bit out of hand. She loved Remus. He was a great friend, but Sirius was even more than that and this was not the sort-of thing about which one wanted to hear details. Besides, the voices inside her head were starting to make her mildly dizzy. "I mean, I AM here, you know," she added.

Sirius reached out and took her hand, bringing it up to lips for a quick kiss.

"_Erm, yeah, sorry about that. Even Lily says I tend to ramble, "_ continued the voice of James Potter. _"Honestly, does this make you uncomfortable?" _

Misha considered the statement. "Well," she said honestly, "it _does_ make me feel a bit like third wheel."

"_Huh? Third wheel? Like a tricycle?"_ asked James with confusion. _"I thought cars had four wheels and bikes had two?"_

Misha sighed. "It makes me feel unnecessary," she explained. "Like I should leave you two alone. Besides, honestly, I find that having you inside my head is a tad nauseating. Is there another way we could continue this conversation?"

"_Well, there is Possession,"_ suggested James, gently.

"POSSESSION?" cried Sirius, looking alarmed. "Sounds rather dodgy and dangerous." He gave Misha's hand a squeeze and looked at her worriedly.

"_Oh, it's quite safe, I assure you. People do it all the time. Well, _I've_ never done it before, but you know me, I'm exceptional at everything."_

Despite themselves, both Misha and Sirius giggled at this, but Sirius soon regained his composure. "Full of yourself as always. But how does it work?" he asked warily.

"_Oh, done painlessly and with ease. I just use your body, Misha, and you…"_

"I what?" Misha was not at all sure she liked the sound of that. She glanced up at Sirius who was still gripping her hand tightly.

"_You go where I am…was.. we switch places,"_ continued the disembodied James.

"Were is that, exactly?" Misha inquired.

"_To the Land of the Dead. But don't worry, it's not scary. Lily would love to have you round for tea. She even made biscuits."_

Misha fell silent, allowing the implications of this to sink in. Most people, Wizard and Muggle alike, would give a small fortune to know what happens after death. It was the crux of all of the world's great religions, was it not? Truthfully, however, Misha had very little interest in that sort of esoteric knowledge, figuring that it was better simply to live one's life to the fullest, being mindful of others and caring for all beings. That said, Sirius might just need this very much. Talking to James one on one might just give him the closure he so needed.

She glanced up to see him staring at her, brow creased with worry. "I don't know about this, Misha," he began. "It sounds rather dangerous. What if something happens? I mean, you're far too important to me, love, and…

"I'll do it," she said firmly.

**To be continued. Reviews are much appreciated. **


	9. Chapter 9 Both

**Chapter Nine (Sirius – Misha - Sirius)**

**(Sirius)**

"I'll do it."

Sirius could not quite believe his ears. This sort of recklessness from a Hufflepuff? What the hell was she trying to prove? He opened his mouth to speak… to protest… to… to… well he was not sure what he was going to say, but neither was he sure he was quite pleased with her decision to simply let James Potter invade her body as she scampered on off to where-ever-the-hell-dead-people-go to talk to Lily. Granted, he desperately wanted to speak to James, but somehow this seemed foolish – even to him. And that was saying something. "I'm not sure if this is a good idea," Sirius began, trying with all his might not to sound like a fusty old man.

"_And you call yourself a Gryffindor? You're nothing but a swotty little Ravenclaw,"_ laughed James, forcing Sirius to break into a good-natured scowl.

But Misha merely shot him a wry smile and reached for his hand. "It'll be fine, love," she whispered, adding, "besides, I think you need this."

Something cold and dreadful niggled at the back of his brain and Sirius shivered. He'd lost so much in his life: James and Lily, Regulus, Remus (to an extent), and even Peter. He'd lost nearly everyone he'd ever cared for and now, finally, he'd found a home. He was safe here. Loved. Wanted. Or at least he thought so. Could he really risk losing all this?

"_Padfoot, it'll be fine. Trust me,"_ said James as if reading his mind.

Sirius looked up at the source of the voice, instinctively hoping to see black, messy hair falling across a pale, bespectacled face. But he was greeted only by Misha's gentle, green-eyed smile. "I don't want to lose you," he said softly.

"_I'm already dead_," supplied James unhelpfully, as Misha shook her head.

"It'll be fine," she reassured.

"If I could, I'd forbid you to do it!" Sirius asserted.

"_Way to be sexist, there_," laughed James, adding, "_besides, this one's a bit like Lily and we all know that there is no authority I could muster that'd make Lily obey a direct order_."

"I think I like her already," Misha said. She leaned over and kissed Sirius fiercely. "I'll be fine, love. Now let's get this over with."

**(Misha)**

The room jolted to the left and began to spin wildly. The last thing Misha saw before blacking out was Sirius' worried face, and the first thing she noticed after regaining consciousness was the cold. It was more than cold: it was freezing, a deep bone-chilling chill she'd never experienced.

"Welcome," said a disembodied voice from somewhere to her left. The world grew gradually brighter and Misha found herself sprawled on a colorful braided rug beside a blazing fire that gave absolutely no warmth. For a brief and frightening moment, she had no idea where she was, recalling only vague images of Sirius' luminous grey eyes and a bossy mantel clock. "Hello, I'm Lily Potter," continued the voice, "I can offer you a blanket, but I'm afraid it won't be of much use."

Despite the fact that she could no longer feel her fingers, Misha managed a shaky nod. A scratchy, woolen afghan floated down around her shoulders and Misha snuggled into it. True to Lily's warning, it provided little relief from the piercing cold, but at least it gave the illusion of warmth.

"I take it James neglected to tell you about the cold bit," Lily asked with a small sigh.

Misha glanced down at her pale, silky sundress and fought the urge to say, "no shit." But why be rude? Lily seemed kind and it was hardly her fault her husband was rather an idiot. "That's okay," lied Misha with a small shrug.

Lily went on to explain that that Dead had no need for warmth and, frankly, sometimes they forgot about it altogether. She crossed the room and tossed another log onto the useless fire. Though the room grew no warmer, things slowly began to swim into focus, enabling Misha to finally see her companion. Lily was lovely – not to mention gorgeous. There was no doubt about that. But what was there to say? Honestly, Misha had no idea how to begin a conversation with a dead woman.

"Erm, your son is a wonderful boy," she offered. "I sometimes teach at Hogwarts and I've gotten to know him a little. He's very polite – and quite brave – and he has some smashingly loyal friends."

Lily's face broke into a radiant smile. "Oh, you know Harry!" she cried. "Are you one of his regular teachers? Does he get good marks from you?"

Misha smiled nervously. No, Harry had never been one of her regular students and, if he were, he'd likely _not_ have gotten good marks. Talented as Harry was at magic, the boy was utterly tone deaf and quite likely arrhythmic as well. "Well, no… erm… I teach music," she offered weakly. And to her great delight, Lily threw her head back and laughed.

"Oh, you _are_ a polite one, are you not?" she snorted. "Neither James nor I could carry a tune in a bucket if our lived depended on it, so why should Harry?" She giggled merrily then calmed herself down, taking a deep breath for support. "So, James told me that you're a violinist," she said, still smiling brightly.

"Of sorts," replied Misha, "but not a very good one, I'm afraid." She frowned, an unvoiced question rising in the back of her mind. "Erm, how does James know that?" she asked curiously.

Lily gazed at her with an unreadable expression. "Misha, James has followed Sirius about since the moment we crossed over," she said. "He was with him in Azkaban and he followed him for those months on the run."

"My god," breathed Misha. "Sirius… he was never really alone, was he?"

Lily shook her head. "Never. We'd never allow that."

Misha smiled, the thought of Sirius always being watched over providing a slight warmth in the otherwise frigid room. Still, she shivered. Drawing the blanket closer around herself, she looked up to see Lily staring at her with an appraising glance.

"He really loves you, you know," Lily said at last.

"James?"

"No, Sirius," laughed Lily.

"Oh," Misha whispered, unable to meet Lily's eye. Sadly, she still had her doubts. A small silence fell over the room once again. The fire crackled icily in the hearth and a clock ticked silently on the mantel.

"I've never seen him with a woman before but it seems… _right…_ somehow with you," Lily began. She was gazing steadily at Misha, her green eyes gleaming in the growing darkness of the Potter's lounge.

"He was with Remus," Misha said stupidly.

Lily nodded slowly. "And _only_ with Remus, if you catch my meaning," but that ended long, long ago. "Sirius has a great - almost canine - capacity to love, but that adoration and devotion was too much for poor Remus, who never truly loved him the same way. Poor Sirius, I'd never seen anyone so devastated in my life - even James at his most desperate was never so heartbreakingly depressed. We thought he'd never recover but, he was just starting to get over it when… when…" Lily gave a small, nervous laugh, raised her hands, and shrugged.

"When Halloween happened?" finished Misha. It was all falling into place now: Sirius' declarations of love, his hesitance at physical intimacy, and his fear of rejection. Deep within her gut, something broke, a taut hesitancy giving way to flood of new assurances. Her hands were shaking and the room grew shimmery around her.

"And you love him, too, don't you?" murmured Lily, almost to herself.

"YES!" Misha found herself crying. "Yes, I'd… I'd give my life for him. And Harry! Oh, he loves Harry so. I promise, Lily, we'll let nothing happen to Harry. We'll take perfect care of him and give him a home and…" Her sudden use of the plural pronoun was not lost on her, despite her newfound dizziness. The cold was sharper now, each breath labored in the icy darkness.

Lily rose and, crossing the small space between them, crouched down beside Misha. "We need to get you home now but… thank you, Misha. You'll take good care of my boys, I know it!"

"Of course…" murmured Misha. The darkness was growing deeper now, the fire in the hearth and the brightness of Lily's hair fading to a dull amber. "I…" And then something screamed in her brain and the world went black."

**(Sirius)**

James had disappeared midsentence. After assuring him, that he'd never been alone, even through his darkest days in Azkaban, the talk and turned to Harry and to politics and, eventually, to nostalgia. James had been halfway through a recollection of Sirius' first attempt to burp Harry (and the streams of regurgitated milk and curse words that had followed), when he simply went silent and seemed to fade from Misha's eyes.

Frankly, hearing is best friend's voice in his girlfriend's (was she really his girlfriend?) body was disconcerting. Yet James had inhabited her perfectly; Potter's wild gestures flowing through her long, tapered fingers, and his trademark grin on her full, soft lips. But none of that was nearly as strange – or as frightening – as the moment James had disappeared, leaving her motionless body collapsed on the bed.

"Misha?" he whispered urgently, leaning close to her still face. "Misha, are you there?" She was breathing – but barely. And she was very, very cold.

"JAMES?" he screamed into the night. But the only sound was the soft ticking of the mantel clock and the creak of a distant floorboard.

"You'd best get her into bed," the clock admonished - and for once Sirius obeyed without thinking. Dimly, he recalled something he'd once read about conserving body heat. Skin against skin was warmest, he remembered. He stripped off his own clothing, pulled her flimsy sundress over his head, and pressed his body to hers. "Ah, yes, quite a brilliant idea," praised the mantel clock.

Sirius _Accio'd_ several blankets and a thick, downy quilt, wrapping them securely around Misha and himself as snuggled down into the bed. He held her tightly, casting a few Warming Charms for good measure. Yet, no matter what he did, Misha remained very cold and very still. "Fuck you," he hissed into her unhearing ear. "What the hell did you go and do that for? You can't leave me, too!"

But Misha did not move. Her breathing was steady, but slow and shallow. Her face was pale.

Frightened, Sirius pressed his face into her vanilla-scented hair and sobbed. This was never meant to end this way, he swore. An hour later, he as asleep.

**To be continued. Not the best chapter – sorry! Reviews are much appreciated. **


	10. Chapter 10 Sirius

**Chapter 10 - Sirius**

Sirius awoke to a dry mouth and a pounding headache; it was like the hangover from hell, but without the pleasure of actually drinking. Late morning sunlight poured in from the unshaded window, bathing the bed in a pool of warmth, and Sirius was loathe to move for fear of waking the girl who slept so peacefully at his side. To his sleep-addled eyes, Misha had never looked so radiant. "Morning, love," he purred rolling over to kiss her lightly on the lips.

But Misha did not move.

And then it all came flooding back: Misha's strange voices, the conversation with James, Misha's reckless decision to allow his dead best friend to invade her body, her inability to awaken… The warmth of the morning evaporated as a cold fear filled his veins.

"Misha?" he whispered, tentatively poking her side in that freakishly ticklish spot he'd come to know so well. Usually she shrieked and wriggled, but this morning she just lay still. Sirius leaned in closer, bending down so that his lips so slightly grazed hers. She was breathing, thank Merlin, but her skin was cool as porcelain.

"Misha, wake-up!" He shook her gently, his fear mounting as the seconds ticked by. As a Marauder, Sirius had had plenty of experience with pranks gone awry, and his later years has seen plenty of Dark Magic - but this was different. Still, it was worth a try. Drawing his wand, he pointed it directly at her and loudly proclaimed, "_ENNERVATE_!"

Her eyes remained closed and her breathing slow and even.

"_Finite Incantatem_."

Nothing. This wasn't any spell he knew of. This was far worse.

"Damn you," he spat, futilely shaking her sleeping form, "WAKE THE FUCK UP!" A shiver of rage ran through him. Why had she done it? Why the fuck had he let her? And why the hell had James allowed it to happen? James. Merlin, but that made it all worse. A still, small voice within Sirius reminded him that he'd actually _enjoyed_ his conversation with long-lost best friend. He'd needed it and Misha knew it. A cold realization hit him: this was all his own fault.

"FUCK!" he cursed, angrily tossing a pillow across the room. "FUCKITY FUCKING FUCKBALLS!"

The only sound was the distant footsteps of worried house-elves and the angry huff of the mantel clock. Sirius glared at its marble face. "Well, _that's_ certainly not getting you anywhere," the clock chided. Its voice reminded him of Remus' mother.

But before he could work up a proper retort, the bedroom door burst opened and Winter the house-elf burst in, trailed by several others of her kind. "Master Sirius!" she exclaimed, "Are you unwell? Whatever is going on?" Her companions looked on, eyes wide with fear.

"I'm… I'm fine," Sirius stammered, unsure of the best way to approach the subject. These house-elves, though free, were incredibly devoted, and Merlin knows what they would do if they thought he'd hurt their mistress. He looked around the room, taking in their worried, grey faces, and then dove right to the point. "But Misha is not; she's ill and we need to get her help."

"Oh, dear… oh, dear, oh dear," squealed the lanky elf to Winter's right. His ears were shaking with anxiety, but Winter was not so easily swayed.

"What happened," she asked, narrowing her eyes at the sleeping Misha. "Did she eat too much? I told her that all that pie was a bad idea, but she insisted on…"

"NO!" bellowed Sirius, cutting off the elf's diatribe. "She's asleep and she can't wake-up. We need to get her to a Healer and…"

"Asleep?" gasped Winter. "What sort-of nonsense is that?" The tiny creature rounded on Sirius with narrowed eyes. "Give me your wand," she commanded.

"Huh?" sputtered Sirius. He had no idea what the elf was going to do, but numbly handed her his newly acquired wand. House-elves had powerful magic, after all, and anything that could bring Misha back was worth a chance.

"It's not going to work, you know," sighed the mantel clock.

Winter merely scowled and murmured a near-wordless spell, sending a shower of freezing water across the sleeping form on the bed. Misha did not move, not even to shiver.

"You see," the clock admonished, "all you managed to do was dampen expensive sheets. If only you'd have listened to me, this would…"

"SHUT-IT, YOU!" screeched Winter, and Sirius shot her a grateful smile. Intimidating as she may be, the elf was, at least, an ally.

"We need to find a Healer," Sirius reiterated.

"Yes, yes!" muttered the lanky elf, but Winter just shook her head.

"Impossible," she grumbled. There are too many Wards in place around the house, and no one can enter without the express permission of a family member."

"Then we owl her father!" barked Sirius. Reaching under the covers he groped blindly for Misha's hand, wincing at the coldness. For the first time since he'd arrived, he'd touched her and she'd not responded to the touch. Inexplicably, this made him think of Azkaban.

"May I remind you, he's in Australia," the mantel clock sighed, "the owl won't reach him for days."

Winter shot the clock a withering look. "Look, you marbled-brained bitch, I've had just about enough of your supercilious comments for one day - and it's not even noon."

Sirius silently applauded the elf.

"So," continued Winter, "we cannot contact St. Mungo's so that's out. Only those who have the password can enter unless invited. I'm afraid that…"

"Dumbledore!" broke in Sirius.

"Excuse me?" Winter regarded him with uncertainty.

"Dumbledore can help her! If anyone can get through the wards, it would surely be Dumbledore. He can get Pomfrey and I know for a fact that, between the two of them, they can fix any spell damage." But as soon as he said it, he knew this was more than spell damage. Still, the elves were all babbling excitedly, and Sirius felt more resolved. "I'll go and get him myself," he added, and, before the others (even that damnable clock) could protest, the air shimmered around him and Padfoot raced out of the room.

Once in dog form, Sirius felt free. In Azkaban Padfoot had been his refuge and salvation, and in the ensuing years he'd become quite accustomed to his canine body. Sirius' brain knew Padfoot's muscles perfectly, every sinew and every breath felt complete. But none of this crossed his mind as he flew down the road towards Hogsmeade, for even in dog-mode only one thought permeated: Misha. He'd lost so much in the past, he was not about to lose more now.

The shops of Hogsmeade streaked through the periphery of his vision as Padfoot sprinted toward the school. He was tired, his muscles burned and his throat ached from panting, but he would not relent. In the distance he saw the Shrieking Shack, the scene of so many memories – most of which revolved around Remus – and, as he made a hard left and headed up the hill towards Hogwarts, it occurred to him that, when this was all said and done, he should owl Moony and let him know he was safe. But only one thing mattered now.

Noon was approaching as Padfoot raced up the hill toward the school and, had he not been so focused on his goal, he would have noticed that it was a truly beautiful day. Students roamed about the grounds, obviously headed toward outdoor lessons, but mostly dawdling to better enjoy the sunshine. Suddenly a new thought occurred to him: how was he to find Dumbledore without being noticed? Slowing down to a trot, he pondered the problem. "Shit," he thought, "if only I had the Marauder's Map, I'd know precisely where to find him. At least that would be a start." But Harry had the Map and, without it, he had no idea where Harry might be. And then it hit him: Hagrid. With renewed energy Padfoot ran on toward the school, heading full-bore toward Hagrid's hut. His lungs screamed with exertion, but he decreased not his pace.

He reached Hagrid's hut to find it empty but for a bored (and surprisingly amorous) Fang. After extracting himself from the dog's clutches (Misha would never call that cheating, would she?), Padfoot hurried out to find the groundskeeper. Assuming he'd find Hagrid either working in the forest or teaching his Care of Magical Creatures lessons, Padfoot put his nose to the ground and began to sniff out a trail.

Unfortunately, Hagrid's scent was virtually everywhere, and it took Padfoot sometime to locate the half-giant who was currently giving a lesson to a group of bored-looking students at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Fortunately, that group was made-up of Fourth-Year Gryffindors and Harry was amongst them. Padfoot quickly darted into the clump of bushes closest to his godson and let out a low whine.

"Hush, Ron, we should at least _pretend_ to be interested," admonished Hermione. She gave her friend a sharp elbow to the ribs to emphasize her point.

"Huh?" cried Ron, shaking off his glassy-eyed stupor. "What'd I do?"

"You were whining a bit there, mate," whispered Harry.

Annoyed, Padfoot gave a low growl.

Ron blushed and looked down at his belly in embarrassment.

"Should've eaten breakfast than?" chuckled Harry. Ron shot him a death glare.

"Woof!" barked Padfoot as softly as he could manage.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione, looked around in confusion.

"Grrrrr… Woof!" Padfoot barked again.

Finally, Harry noticed. "I think that bush is trying to get our attention," he said, pointing at the clump of foliage in which Padfoot was concealed.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Harry, I think that the something which is _snuffling_ about _in_ the bushes is trying to get _your_ attention."

And Sirius silently blessed her.

As surreptitiously as humanly possible for a fourteen-year-old boy, Harry slipped off into the forest, Padfoot at his heels. When they were sufficiently out of sight and of earshot of the class, Sirius transformed. "Harry!" he cried softly, folding his godson into an enormous embrace.

Harry quickly hugged him back and then pulled away. "What are you doing here, Sirius. You know it's dangerous." He looked scared and uncertain, torn between excitement at seeing his godfather and fear of getting caught.

"Look," began Sirius, "I know you have a lot on your mind with classes and the Tri-Wizard Tournament and all, but I need your help. I need to you to take me to Dumbledore immediately. It's urgent. "

Harry still looked conflicted.

"It's Misha," Sirius continued. "She's sick. She may be dying. And I think Dumbledore can help her." Deep down, Sirius longed to tell Harry the whole story of his talking to James and of Misha meeting Lily, but he instinctively knew better than to broach the subject there and then. It would surely be too much for the boy to handle. Besides, Misha was the one who'd spoken to Lily, and only she could tell the story correctly. But none of that would matter if she did not wake-up. "Please," he finished, "it's important."

Harry nodded in understanding and then began rummaging through is school bag. His brow furrowed into a frown. "Hell, I don't have my Invisibility Cloak," he cursed.

Sirius thought about this for a minute. Granted, it would surely look suspicious for Harry Potter, known throughout the school as one of the four Champions, to go waltzing about the halls in broad daylight, followed by a huge, Grim-like dog. People would surely notice. "Okay," he began, "I'll stay here. You go get Dumbledore."

"Great!" cried Harry. "I'll meet you back at Hagrid's hut in ten minutes.

"Great," thought Sirius, "more Fang." But aloud he merely thanked his godson before transforming back into Padfoot and sneaking off through the forest. This time he took the long way around, for arriving early would only result in more fretting and waiting. It was best to remain busy - and to avoid Fang who was alternately horny and aggressive toward other dogs.

Nevertheless, he reached at the groundskeeper's hut a full fifteen minutes before Dumbledore's belated arrival. Fang immediately poked his nose into Padfoot's behind, and it went downhill from there. By the time Harry and the Headmaster burst through the door, Fang had mounted him and was happily humping away.

"Oh, dear, we appear to be interrupting something," Dumbledore proclaimed upon entering the cabin.

Padfoot politely disengaged himself from his canine host and quickly transformed into human form. "There was no escaping it," he said by way of greeting.

"Apparently," Dumbledore agreed. He removed his grey, velvet hat and peered into it as if looking for Nargles.

And then Sirius lost it. The pressures of the past few days came flooding out in a vitriolic stream of sorry and anger. Logically, he knew he should have been more careful, to have more gently broached the subject of encountering James, but he was simply too overcome with emotion. James, Lily, Misha, Remus, Harry - Sirius loved too much and felt entirely too fragile. As he told the story, Dumbledore nodded periodically, once or twice breaking into an odd smile. But Harry? Oh, Harry looked pale and on the verge of tears.

"I'm sorry. Oh, I'm so sorry," Sirius muttered, finishing his tale and noting his godson's distress.

"You guys talked to my mum and dad?" breathed Harry. His lips trembled slightly at each word.

"Yes, Harry," replied Sirius. He was beginning to recover from is brief, emotional fit and was starting to worry about Harry. "Your dad said to tell you that he loves you very much and is always watching over you. He's very proud of you, you know."

"And my mum?" asked Harry.

"Only Misha can tell you that, and she won't wake-up."

Two pair of eyes turned beseechingly toward Dumbledore. "Well?" asked Harry.

"Well, I think we best summon Professor Snape," replied the old man.

"SNAPE?" cried Harry and Sirius simultaneously.

"Of course. _Professor_ Snape is quite the expert at brewing The Draught of Living Energy. In fact, he may already have some on hand."

"The what of _what_?" asked Sirius. "This requires a potion? How the hell does she drink it?"

"Well, it's more aromatic, really," Dumbledore began vaguely, "the person begins to awaken to the aroma – it's rather strong, I'm warning you – and then sips the draught to fully recover. It's quite the fascinating process and requires the utmost care in…"

"Erm, Headmaster?" broke in Sirius.

Dumbledore peered at him as if he'd just realized Sirius was in the room. "Yes?"

"Snivell… Snape? Shouldn't someone go get him?"

"Oh, yes," sighed the old man. "Quite right. Harry, you will run and summon the Potions Master. Please tell him what is required and that we will meet him at the castle gate at precisely 2:33PM."

"And it was called the what again?" asked Harry. "The Draft of Liquid Envelopes?"

"The Draught of Living Energy," whispered Sirius with a wink.

And Harry ran off toward the castle.

"Well then," said Dumbledore, "Since we have some time to kill whilst Professor Snape prepares his potions, I'd love to hear all about your visit with James Potter." He paused as the corners of his mouth twitched into a smile. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer to continue your visit with Fang."

"Certainly _not_," replied Sirius.

** *** ** *** **

An hour later Professor Dumbledore stood at the foot of the hill, a large, shaggy dog at his side. Periodically, he would lean down and address the dog in a tone one normally reserves for humans – and friends at that. "I took the liberty of owling your friend, Lupin," he said lightly. "If anyone can help you through the waiting it will be him."

The dog sneezed in response and the old man smiled. If any passerby found this site strange they held their tongue, but, more than likely, they'd long ago grown accustomed to such bizarre behaviour. In fact, for Dumbledore, bizarre behaviour was really quite mundane.

After a few minutes, two figures appeared in the distance. They appeared to be arguing.

"If Dumbledore had not wanted me to come, he would have _said_ so," insisted the shorter of the two figures.

"_Headmaster_ Dumbledore must have an almost masochistic desire to be constantly annoyed, then," replied the taller figure.

The boy just huffed indignantly.

"Welcome, Professor… Harry," intoned Dumbledore. Sirius gave a short bark.

"I see the odiferous cur is back," mumbled Snape.

"Padfoot risked his life to save a friend," Dumbledore reminded them gently. "He was very brave to say the least."

"And he doesn't smell!" spat Harry, adding, "At least not much."

Padfoot would have protested, but was far too concerned about Misha. Whining softly, he scampered ahead as if urging them onward.

And, with that, the strange group strode purposely forward, arguing all the way.

**Comments are love. This will be continued soon. **


	11. Chapter 11 Sirius

**Chapter 11 – Sirius**

By the time the four wizards (one of whom was currently a dog) reached the Marrowstone estate, tempers were flaring - to say the least. The air was rife with angry, yipping barks, snide, sarcastic comments, and petulant teenaged angst. Only Albus Dumbledore rose above it all, smiling calmly and making myriad benign comments about the local flora. Sirius was fit to be tied.

Yet the mood broke as they reached the beginnings of the warded space at the edge of the property. Despite the outward appearance of a tiny, ruinous cottage sitting in the middle of a neglected field, the four were undeterred. "We approach as friends," Dumbledore cried, addressing what appeared to be nothing at all.

A door-sized patch of air shimmered in response.

"I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and friend of Misha Marrowstone and of Sirius Black, Misha's beloved.

At that, Padfoot blushed beneath his fur; the thought of Dumbledore actually proclaiming such a thing aloud sent shivers of excitement through him. But the old man continued, unheeding of Sirius' excitement. "And with me are Severus Snape, Hogwarts Potions Master and friend and care-giver to the late Melinda Marrowstone…"

This gave Sirius pause, for such information was new to him.

"…and Harry Potter, godson to Sirius Black and friend to Misha."

The air shimmered approvingly and then flashed a warning. "And Remus Lupin," came a gravelly voice behind them. Padfoot and the others stared in shock. Dumbledore opened is mouth to bid welcome, but Remus continued. "I am friend to Misha and her father, David, as well as a customer and sometimes employee of your fine establishment."

The air shimmered once again.

"Oh, yes," whispered Dumbledore, "and we approve of the medicinal herbs produced here."

"Well, _approve_ might be a bit strong…" began Snape, but he was quickly silenced by a nip on the ankle from Padfoot. Severus gave the dog a disapproving look and attempted a vicious kick that Padfoot easily dodged. "You'll pay for this, Black," Snape muttered under his breath.

But the air paid little attention to such antics and simply formed itself into a garden gate which Padfoot nosed open to reveal the familiar lush garden and rustic hunting lodge he'd come to love. He pushed on through, transforming instantaneously into his human form as he crossed the ward.

"Well," smiled Dumbledore, "there it is." And, with that, the five wizards made their way toward the house.

*** ** *** ** ***

"Potter, get me the large, iron cauldron," snapped Snape immediately upon entering the kitchen. Harry scowled, but scurried to obey.

"Lupin, although it frightens me to the core to have a fool such as yourself anywhere _near _such a delicate matter as this, I'm afraid I will have to ask you to assist me," continued the Potions Master in a silky tone.

Sirius gave a grunt of protest, but Snape quickly shushed him. "Yes, Black, loathe as I am to admit it, you are, indeed, a decent-enough brewer and would be far superior to this gang of fools…" He waved his hand in the direction of an indignant Harry and a bewildered Remus. "…but I am quite sure that you'd prefer to wail and fawn over your little girlfriend there and would be of no use whatsoever."

"BULLSHIT!" bellowed Sirius, "I WANT TO HELP." All eyes in the room turned to him, and he added more softly, "Erm, but I _do_ want to run in and check on her first."

"Of course, you do," said Dumbledore gently, before plunking himself down at the table and enchanting the teapot to brew a cup of Earl Grey.

Sirius dashed out of the room and ran up the stairs to Misha's bedroom, but as he reached the door he drew in his breath and slowed his pace. Almost hesitantly, he pushed the door opened to reveal the heavy, hushed stillness he'd come to dread. The room was darker now, the afternoon sun well out of the east-facing windows. Misha slept on, looking almost peaceful, the slow rise and fall of her chest the only movement in the room. Even the damnable clock was silent for once.

Sirius knelt down beside the bed nuzzling her hair and holding her tightly. "I'll get you out of this, love," he whispered fiercely. "I promise." He placed a gentle kiss on her cold lips and fought the tears that pricked at the corners of his eyes. "Please don't leave me, too," he added.

He raised his head and gazed down at her for moment, wondering what, precisely, she would think of the situation, were she able to see it. Would she be proud of his bravery or think him weak for fearing? Would she want him by her side or working hard to help her? The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that the he needed to return to the kitchen. Misha was not one to sit about and mope, and neither was he.

*** ** *** ** ***

Sirius trotted into the kitchen to find a sullen Harry chopping gurdy-root and a far more calm - if equally as annoyed - Remus dicing slugs.

"Oh, for the love of Merlin, Lupin, could you at least _attempt_ to make your slug cubes a near-approximation of the same size? Or is it beyond your capabilities, as usual?"

Remus stiffened, and Sirius threw a comforting arm around his friend's shoulder. "At least _your_ slugs are free of dripping hair-grease," Sirius whispered loudly into the werewolf's ear.

"I trust you realize I heard that, Black," chided Snape.

Sirius grinned. "Of course."

And so the process continued: Harry and Remus, chopping vainly away at their given ingredients as they suffered Snape's abuse, Sirius taking on the more delicate tasks (and, to Snape's obvious consternation, doing a spectacular job of it), Snape directing his minions and specializing in nasty remarks, and Dumbledore calmly drinking pot after pot of the Marrowstone's tea and making pointless, innocuous observations about the weather. All in all, it was a most productive evening.

By the time the potion was set on the fire to brew, tempers were short and the smell in the kitchen was overwhelming. "I'm bloody surprised the stench alone, doesn't wake her up," Harry muttered darkly.

"Believe it or not, Potter, that's rather the point," muttered Snape. "For once you actually figured something out on your own without that buck-toothed, Muggle-born to…"

"Now, Severus," chided Remus, "that's rather unnecessary."

"Whatever," grumbled Snape as he decanted the foul-smelling liquid into a large, silver goblet. Handing the cup to Sirius he added, "It's all up to you now, I suppose."

"What?" asked Sirius. Frankly, he was still a tad bit disconcerted by the process - not to mention by Snape's utter lack of forthright information.

The Potions Master heaved a great, discontented sigh and glared at Sirius. "As you might recall had you been paying attention, Dumbledore mentioned that The Draught of Living Energy requires the person to smell it in order to revive. I'm certainly not going to be part of that process, so it's all up to you now."

"Of course," grinned Sirius, glad that this ordeal was coming to an end. He grabbed for the goblet, but was stopped by a firm, wrinkled hand over his wrist.

"We'll be going now," interrupted Dumbledore, who for some reason had an extremely strong grip for an old man. "Harry, Professor Snape, and I must return to the school, but I'm sure that Remus would be more than happy to stay and assist you."

Remus wiped his hands on is shabby robes and nodded enthusiastically.

"However, I must warn you," the Headmaster continued, "the affects of the The Draught of Living Energy can be quite alarming, and it often takes two people to deal with the consequences. Also, you'll need to stay on top of things and try to reach her. "

Sirius nodded.

"Here," added Dumbledore, fishing about in the pocket of his robes, "you might find this rather useful." Handing Sirius a small, tattered pamphlet, he gave a slight nod and herded a resentful Harry and seething Snape out the door.

"But I didn't even get to say good-bye," whined Harry.

"Shut-up, boy," retorted Snape. "You're lucky we let you come along at all."

Once they were gone Sirius gave Remus a weak smile and glanced down at the yellowing parchment. "The Draught of Living Energy and YOU," he read aloud, "Simple guidelines to keep safe and prevent unwanted death."

"Well, fuck."

*** ** *** ** ***

A quarter hour later, after having all-but memorized the instructions, the two wizards were ready for their task. Odiferous goblet in hand, they marched up the stairs and into Misha's bedroom.

"Dear Merlin, what is that smell?" cried the mantle clock after catching a whiff of the potion.

Remus gave the timepiece a hard stare, but Sirius just ignored it.

"It smells like an old athletic sock soaked in bat urine and buried under a chicken coop for a month before…"

"SHUT-UP," growled Sirius. "Do you want to save her or not?" And the clock fell silent.

Wincing, Sirius held the cup beneath Misha's nose as Remus pushed the sleeping girl into a (mostly) upright position on the bed. "There we go, love," take a big whiff, soothed Sirius. He held the cup closer, jiggling it gently to waft the smell.

For a moment nothing happened and then, miraculously, Misha snorted. It was a faint snort and, in fact, vaguely pig-like, but Sirius rejoiced at new turn of events. This was progress, at least. He jiggled the cup again, and she gave another snort.

"It works!" shouted Remus, moving to spontaneously hug his friend. But as he drew near, logic got the best of him and, rather than risk Sirius spilling the potion all over the bed, he gave Sirius a quick peck on the lips and then pulled back quickly. "We actually did it," he added.

Sirius sighed and shook his head. "Yes, Moony," he said, "but we still have a long way to go. That bloody pamphlet said that this could take hours and that we had to keep constant contact with her."

Remus nodded and offered a tired, enthusiastic smile. Truthfully, the full moon was approaching and he was exhausted.

Suddenly, Sirius was struck with an idea. "You stay here and talk to her for a moment, please. I need to find something." Remus barely had time to nod before Sirius sprinted from the room.

Bounding down the stairs and heading for the library, Sirius passed several bewildered house elves. "She's waking, so I gotta get a book," he grunted as he shot past. The house elves smiled as if in understanding.

Once in the library, Sirius searched hurriedly through the shelves in search of a book on massage. He was relatively sure that Misha had said that Avia had published one and that that was what she'd used on him. But there was nothing to be found. Finally, he grabbed an enormous volume titled, "The Endless Joys of Magical Bodywork," and headed back up to the bedroom. By the time he reached her bed, Sirius was breathless and starting to sweat. Clutching the heavy book to his chest he gasped, "Now all I need to do is read this."

"WHAT?" asked Remus, examining the book. He paused, looking thoughtful. "Are you serious, Padfoot?"

"Of course," snapped Sirius. "She does this for me all the time. It's bloody spectacular - life changing, even. So I thought if I learned it and did the same for her, it might help reach her."

Much to Sirius' dismay, Remus laughed.

"What the fuck?" Sirius growled.

"Oh, Pads," chided Remus gently, "You don't need a book."

"I don't?"

"No, of course not. You said she does this for you all the time, right?" The werewolf's eyes glinted with amusement as Sirius scowled and nodded. "Then all you have to do is do what she does. Touch her the way she touches you. Use you kinesthetic memory, Pads; you'll be extraordinary as usual."

Shit. Sirius could not believe that he'd missed the obvious. Blushing, he reluctantly admitted that his oldest, living friend was correct as usual.

"Well, then," said Remus briskly. Rising to leave the room he added, "I'll go down and make us something to eat. I'll leave you to it, then."

Sirius pulled his friend into a fierce hug. "Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you for staying and for believing in me and…"

"Just wake her up, love," smiled Remus as he disengaged himself from Sirius.

And Sirius was left alone with the half-sleeping form of the woman he now knew that he loved beyond measure.

Reluctantly, he removed the sundress she'd been wearing for the past few days and laid her flat on the bed. "Damn, you're beautiful," he whispered as he oiled his hands and began to caress her feet. Misha stirred slightly at the touch, making Sirius grin. It was working! She could feel him! He continued to work his hands over her body, the delicate scent of perfumed oil filling his nostrils as he caressed her skin. Sensory memory took over as he softly kneaded her muscles. This was love. This was connection. Although she never fully moved, Sirius was aware of slight changes in her breath as he moved his hands over her soft skin. He became confident that she was aware of his presence, and, for the first time in days, he was at peace.

He continued his ministrations until his hands ached and his arms could barely reach across her body. Exhausted, he simply put aside the vial of oil and lay down next to her. Her breathing remained slow and even, but somehow different – more alive and vital – and Sirius matched her breath for breath until he, too, fell asleep at her side. He never even noticed Remus pad silently into the bedroom and place a small tray of soup and wine on the bedside table.

Hours later, Sirius awoke to bright moonlight falling across the bed and the combined odors of chicken soup, lavender massage oil, and The Draught of Living Energy. Sirius blinked into the darkness and noticed Remus asleep in an overstuffed chair in the corner. The clock ticked quietly, for once fulfilling its role as time-keeper rather than dispensing unwanted advice. Across the room, slumbering on a nest of soiled laundry, lay a pile of house elves, Winter amongst them.

Sirius sat up and looked at Misha, slowly drawing a finger down the side of her cheek. "I love you," he whispered aloud.

Then, without warning, Misha sat-up and vomited spectacularly.


	12. Chapter 12 Misha, Sirius

**Chapter 12**

**(Misha)**

Misha awoke to the acrid smell of her own vomit mixed with the odor of what her clouded mind could only discern as one of her dad's old trainers stuffed with rotting veal and thoroughly hosed down with rancid goat urine. Dear Merlin, it was awful. And, yet, above the haze of stench floated the face of the man she feared she was not only falling in love with, but had recently upchucked all over. "Oh, shit… sorry," she murmured before gagging again.

Sirius just smiled and hugged her tightly, a gesture Misha found both comforting and slightly gross. "It's our fault, really – reeking potion and all – but it worked and that's what matters!" He gave Misha a little squeeze. "And the stench was worth it because, thank gods, you're alive," said Sirius, pulling back slightly to stroke her hair.

"As opposed to what?" asked Misha, genuinely perplexed. Her experience with potions suggested that the strong smell was some sort of re-awakening agent, but why in bloody hell had she needed re-awakening?

And then it all came crashing back to her. She'd been cold, very cold – and Lily had been there. Or maybe _she'd_ been with Lily. All she could recall was that they'd been sitting in some strange, freezing lounge discussing Sirius and Harry and then suddenly she could remember nothing at all. How the hell did that happen? How much time had passed? And why did Sirius seem so unbothered by the stench? Well, she reasoned, perhaps Azkaban and a steady died of rats may have made him immune.

"As opposed to being out cold with your mind trapped in another dimension," Sirius answered, the urgency in his voice bringing Misha back to reality. "We were worried there for a good bit. You wouldn't wake-up, you were barely breathing, and you were pale as all hell… So I transformed into Padfoot and ran to get Dumbledore and Harry and they got Remus and then Snivellus had to come and…"

"Severus was _HERE_?" squeaked Misha. "Did make more snarky comments about that huge pile of boots in the hallway? Every time he came to visit Mum, he'd make this big deal about how 'bloody slovenly' we all were and how careless with our shoes and…"

"Snivellus only came to help make you the The Draught of Living Energy, and if he even noticed your indiscriminately placed footwear at all, he said not a word about it," Sirius replied. "He was worried. We all were."

A raspy laugh rumbled from the rear of the room. "Never heard you defending Snape before, Padfoot. That must be a first. Or perhaps it's a sign of the Apocalypse."

Remus. What the hell was _he_ doing here? Misha wondered, hopefully not aloud.

"Glad you're back, love," smiled Remus, waving his wand with a wordless Vanishing Spell and Disappearing the puddled sick. He stepped up beside Sirius and threw an arm casually around his shoulder. "This one was beside himself, you know." He looked over at his friend and once-lover and grinned – and to Misha's dismay, Sirius grinned back.

Misha said nothing. True, she was thrilled at the loss of the sticky mess, but, other than that, she'd no idea what to make of the situation. Dimly she remembered that Lily had told her that Remus was Sirius' first and truest love – or something like that. He'd been head over heels devoted to him, but Remus had broken his heart. So what in the world was going on now?

An eternity of silence ticked by as all three so-called adults shuffled nervously about their internal thoughts. Remus dropped his hand from Sirius' shoulder, but the gesture brought Misha little relief. Jealousy wasn't a new emotion for her. She'd struggled with it in the past and, much like her weight, it was often a losing battle. For his part Sirius just patted her hand consolingly as if utterly at a loss as to what to say or do.

"Well, the least you could do is thank him, you ungrateful brat!" chided the chimey voice of the long-forgotten mantle clock. "He _did_ help save your life, you know. Questionable slug-slicing skills aside, he meant well."

"Shut it, you," snapped Sirius, but Misha was already on her way to apologizing to Remus.

"Sorry, Remus," she began. "And thank you. Thanks to _all_ of you, really. I… I… I don't quite know what happened."

"You nearly sacrificed yourself to let me talk to James one last time, is what happened," broke in Sirius, before launching into a much abbreviated version of the events leading up to the passing-out incident.

As he listened to his best friend's story Remus nodded sagely, a small twitch of a smile playing upon his chapped lips. "Well, I think you've met your match, Padfoot," he said with a chuckle. "I never thought it would happen, but you did. You finally met someone who is as stupidly reckless, big-hearted, and obstinately loyal as you. " He leaned down and gave Misha a gentle kiss on the nose. "You two deserve each other! Merlin help both of you!" He gave Misha and Sirius a small wave as he negotiated the myriad piles of dirty laundry on his way out of the room.

And then it hit her, the rest of what Lily had said that night. _He really loves you, you know. I've never seen him with a woman before but it seems… right… somehow with you._ Sweet Circe's tits! Even Remus could see it. Sirius DID actually love her! Hell, he'd probably risked his own freedom to go and fetch help for her, and all she could do is lay about feeling all angry and jealous. Maybe the clock was right! Maybe she _was _an ungrateful little brat! Throwing the covers back she swung her legs over the side of the bed and attempted to go after Remus.

"Erm, Misha, don't forget you're still starkers," warned Sirius stifling a laugh. "Not that I mind," he added.

And Misha looked down to see it was true. No wonder she was still so bloody cold.

"For Merlin's sake, child, he's long gone, but at least put on your dressing if you're going to go tearing around the house like a banshee! You always did like to run about naked!" Misha looked over to see Winter's faux-disapproving smile as she held out the hideous red, woolen dressing gown some estranged aunt had once sent her for Christmas.

"Personally, I think you should just stay in bed," huffed the clock. "And I should like to remind the elf that banshees do not precisely _tear about_, but rather swish and float, much like the… "

"It was a simile," snarled the house elf. "And idiomatic as well."

"Not an idiom with which _I'm_ familiar," the mantle-clock countered.

Winter snatched the hapless timepiece off the mantle and shook it violently. "Watch it, you," she hissed. "I can leave you unwound!"

"You wouldn't dare!"

"The hell I wouldn't! Insulting my Mistress that way! Miss Misha's been ill, for Merlin's sake! She's needing love and warm soup not swotty advice from a ratty old piece of tin and marble like you!'

The clock let out a shrieking series of chimes, and Winter raised her hand as if to throw it against the wall.

"FOR FUCK'S SAKE STOP!" yelled Sirius and the whole room fell silent.

Misha's breath hitched. Winter froze, mouth agape, and dropped the clock to the floor. The clock chimed mournfully, muffled be the heap of crumpled parchment in which it had landed.

"You," he said to Winter, "why don't you go make Misha some chicken soup and take that bloody clock with you? It's been an unbelievably long day and Misha needs her rest!"

Winter regarded Sirius for a moment and then began to laugh uproariously. "Winter is not fooled, you know," she wheezed between spurts of glee. "She knows you two just wants to be alone." She turned and stalked out of the room shaking her head. "Chicken soup indeed!" she muttered under her breath.

"Oh, and take that bloody clock with you," called Sirius, but it was too late. Winter was long gone, grumbling steadily about killing roosters as she kicked her way through the detritus of Misha's bedroom. Sirius just sighed and tossed the neglected, red dressing gown over the spot where the clock lay. "At that will muffle the son of a bitch," he proclaimed.

Misha laughed and snuggled closer to Sirius. "Thank you," she whispered, pulling him down for a kiss.

"For smothering your dressing gown?" asked Sirius, between fierce kisses.

Misha smiled. "For saving me. For loving me. And for letting me love you back."

Sirius hugged her tightly. "You said," he said, voice breaking slightly. "Finally."

"Yes," said Misha, "but I've always felt it."

She pulled back the covers, allowing Sirius to crawl in next to her. He nuzzled into her neck and let forth a little Padfoot-like whine before curling his arms around her and holding her close. "Your hair still smells a little of the Draught of Living Energy," he murmured.

"Fine," she laughed back. "Then leave."

"That's the last thing I want to do," said Sirius, and, in a sudden rush of awareness, Misha knew he meant it. Sirius _didn' t_ want to leave. He was still on the run, but would never run from _her_. It wasn't perfect – and it was certainly not the romance she would have imagined for herself – but then, again, she'd never sought perfection. Sirius was wise and witty, compassionate, loyal, and loving. Oh, yeah, and devastatingly handsome as well. Sure, he was a convicted criminal, but they could work around that, right?

Misha giggled and placed a gentle kiss on the hollow of Sirius' throat. "Now then," she said, "if the smell bothers you so much, we'll just have to get rid of it, I suppose."

"Well, it has been several days since we put that bathtub of yours to any good use," answered Sirius.

He was always full of bright ideas.

**(Sirius)**

Later that night, as he lay curled around his new lover, Sirius could not help but smile. Misha snored contentedly next to him, but the noise hardly bothered him at all. Remus had snored, too - snored like a hippogriff, in fact - but he'd never held him like this, never cuddled him like this and, truthfully, never loved him like this. No, thought Sirius, this was different. New. Safe. Warm. Home.

If he were honest with himself, Sirius would have to admit that he'd never truly had home. He'd grown up at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, but, even as a child, he'd never felt at ease there. He'd always known he was different, always longed for more. Griffindor Tower had been a kind of home, but school – no matter how brilliant – was always tainted with a hint of the temporary and the ghosts of emotions from the students who'd been there before. No, he'd loved Hogwarts, but it had never been _his_.

And the Potters? Well, James's parents had always loved him, outwardly professing him to be one of their own. But Sirius knew different. Deep down, even there, in the company of the one human being who would eventually be loyal enough to watch over him from the grave, he was still an outsider. He was loved adequately, but James was loved perfectly. He was their son, after all.

But here in Misha's arms Sirius was happy to love and to be loved, to coddle and to be coddled, and most of all to be himself. Misha understood him, loved him, and that was all that mattered. She'd promised that one day he would be exonerated, and that she would dedicate herself to his freedom. Sure he wanted that – more than anything, in fact – but tonight he was content just to be.

**THE END**


End file.
